Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/801259.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Les_Misérables_-_All_Media_Types, Les_Misérables_(2012), Les_Misérables_-
      Schönberg/Boublil, Les_Misérables_-_Victor_Hugo
  Relationship:
      Combeferre/Enjolras
  Character:
      Enjolras_(Les_Misérables), Combeferre_(Les_Misérables), Monsieur
      Enjolras, Madame_Enjolras
  Additional Tags:
      Young_Enjolras, aristocrat!Enjolras, Young_Combeferre, Underage_Sex,
      Greek_and_Roman_Mythology_-_Freeform, Hand_Jobs, Anal_Sex
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-05-13 Chapters: 13/13 Words: 21646
****** Enjolras in Love ******
by Vingtieme
Summary
     Young aristocrat!Enjolras AU, but period.
     Enjolras comes from a wealthy family in Provence. The story begins in
     his early childhood and, as he grows up, he discovers his political
     views, and makes mischief wherever possible. At boarding school, he
     meets Combeferre and, over the next few years, their friendship
     blossoms into love.
     Rated for the later chapters.
Notes
See the end of the work for notes
***** Young Julien *****
Young Julien awoke to a crack of thunder and a flash of lightning. The shutters
slammed open to reveal the torrential downpour outside. The trees were bending
so that they looked as if at any moment they might snap. Julien was a very
young child, hardly four, and he was terribly frightened. He cowered beneath
the blankets, hoping for some measure of protection, but the next boom of
thunder was enough to send him flying out into the corridor.
The child scampered down the hall in a state of panic, tears streaming down his
face. Out of the corner of his eye, Julien spotted a light peeping under the
door of the drawing room. Hoping desperately that it was not his father sitting
awake, he crept into the room. To his relief, he found that it was his mother
sitting in the high backed armchair in front of the drawing room fire. She did
not notice him as he walked in, and he approached her quietly. She was in her
dressing gown, and did not appear to have been doing anything in particular –
just staring into the flickering light and thinking. Her face was bathed in the
soft, warm glow of the flames. In that moment, young Julien thought that his
mother was the most beautiful thing in the world – her delicate features and
her soft blond curls cascading over one shoulder. Her bright and thoughtful
eyes. And she was always so much kinder than Pére. He loved her very dearly.
“Julien, my darling,” his mother said tenderly, only slightly surprised as he
padded, barefoot, into view. “What are you doing up so late, cheri?”
There was a flash of lighting and a clap of thunder, and the rain seemed to
pound ever harder upon the roof. Julien jumped in fright. Madame Enjolras
beckoned her sniffling, wide-eyed child closer, and he gratefully climbed into
her lap, attempting to drown his fear in the folds of her dressing gown. She
drew him to her, and Julien buried his face into her neck and breathed in her
scent: clean and soft – like a cloud. Thunder rumbled once again in the
distance and he trembled in fright, then nuzzled deeper into his mother’s hold,
clinging to her with all his might.
“Oh, my sweet,” she murmured, stroking her child’s sweet blonde ringlets.
“Hush, do not be afraid.” She cooed and stroked Julien, and held him close.
Gradually, he felt himself relax into her warmth – her peace and calm. He felt
safe enough to begin to doze. All too soon, however, Madame Enjolras shook her
Julien gently awake, and told him they must return to bed. Julien looked
decidedly out of sorts, so his mother offered him an appeasement.
“Now, Julien,” she whispered, her voice sparkling with life, “would you like
some warm milk?”
“Oui, Maman,” Julien replied eagerly. And he felt himself privy to a great
secret as they crept down to the kitchens, and Julien’s mother fixed his milk
herself.
Madame Enjolras had never grown accustomed to servants to attend to her every
need. She grew up a simple farm girl – the only reason Monsieur Enjolras had
married her was her incredible beauty. She, of course, had married him because
it was quite the done thing. If an affluent young nobleman asked your hand in
marriage, not a single flicker of doubt would cross your mind. You married him
for the betterment of everyone you knew and loved. You married him for the sake
of your children and your children’s children. You married him because you
could live a comfortable life, if not a happy one. You married him because
there was no other choice. Madame Enjolras’ one regret was that she was not
allowed a hand in running her own home. She knew how to be a good wife, and she
would have sorely liked to be able to do it, but it was not how a respectable
upper-class woman was supposed to behave.
 Sometimes, though, she would tell her son fantasies about living in a happy
little cottage by the sea where everything was true and good. Both mother and
child longed for such a place, and it was something they could share when they
were together like this, in the middle of the night. So, because Madame
Enjolras could not have what she really wanted, she made do with doing small
things for the people she loved. Like heating some milk for her son instead of
allowing the maid to do it. Her husband would constantly insist that she learn
her place, but she knew where she really belonged.
Julien drank his milk and his mother took him to bed, tucked him in and lulled
him to sleep with dreams of their cottage by the sea. Julien never feared a
storm again.
***** Henri *****
Chapter Summary
     Julien meets Henri.
.
Time passed and Julien was sent off to school. He did not like it a bit. He
missed his home in Provence: the beautiful sunny shores; his horse, Gabriel;
his tutor, Monsieur Verdoux, with whom he always had such fun arguing; and his
dear, lovely mother.
            He did not like the way the Jesuits taught, and he did not like
their views. Even at the tender age of 13 he was beginning to become skeptical
of organized religion. He learned about the government in school, and he
thought it profoundly unfair.
            One day, he took it upon himself to protest. They were talking
about the history of the Bourbons in class, and the priest was spouting his
usual propaganda.
            “Enjolras,” barked the priest in one of his periodical pop quizzes
to see who was paying attention, “On what date did Louis XIV revoke the Edict
of Nantes?”
           “On the 18th of October 1685,” replied young Julien drolly. He knew
French history backwards and forwards, and it was just as boring as it was
infuriating. “Tyrant,” he muttered under his breath. Unfortunately, the priest
heard.
            “Excuse me, Enjolras,” the teacher said in almost stark disbelief,
“but what did you just call The Sun King?”
            “You heard what I said!” cried Julien, jumping to his feet in a
fury. “Louis XIV, your precious “Sun King” was a bloody tyrant! Not only that,
but he betrayed his dead father by undoing the great strides he’d made in the
right direction! Complete religious intolerance?! How is that right, or good,
or just?! A child, taking the throne at age 4, and thinking he can do whatever
he wants, that’s what he was! How could that kind of thinking have possibly
helped France?! The whole system is completely corrupt!”
            “You have the audacity to – ?!” the priest choked out, absolutely
livid, and he took Julien by the ear and dragged him to the headmaster’s
office, where he was sentenced to three weeks detention and a letter to his
father.
            Julien had a difficult time after that. He simply couldn’t contain
some of his outbursts, and he was constantly getting himself into trouble. The
problem was, he knew he was right. He couldn’t just lie back and watch as
injustices were committed. So, he continued on fighting for what he believed
in.
            The younger boys began to see Julien as a leader, and he began to
attract the attention of many of the older boys as well. Unfortunately, this
variety of attention was not particularly welcome.
            The reader must understand that, at a boys’ boarding school, where
no girls are available, the students often turn to one another to satisfy
their… urges. Julien, with his lovely golden curls, big blue eyes, plump
cherubic lips, flushed cheeks, and lithe figure, was perfect prey for an older
boy.
            Julien had noticed for a while now the way the older boys looked at
him, and he did not like it at all. He was seeking an avid listener to his
ideology, but instead he found hungry stares and secretive smiles. It was
enough to give him gooseflesh. Occasionally the boys would brush against his
hand or tap his shoulder to gain his attention and, as time went on, the
unnecessary touches increased. On a couple of occasions, he thought he felt one
or two pinches to his bottom as he walked down a crowded corridor.
            One cloudy afternoon in early March, Julien was trudging through a
dark corner of the courtyard by himself, on his way to the next building to
serve his latest detention when, suddenly, he was accosted by Didier
Chenonceaux, a 16-year-old who often attended Julien’s seditious tirades in the
Grosvenor House common room. Julien did not like Chenonceaux. He was a big lad
who often bullied the other boys into giving him what he wanted. Consequently,
he tried to avoid Didier by swerving around a corner down the back way, an
alley between buildings. But he could not shake his pursuer.
            “Bonjour, Enjolras!” Chenonceaux called, approaching swiftly and
cornering Julien in the dark alleyway.
            “Bonjour, Chenonceaux, but I really must be going. I mustn’t be
late for detention.” Julien replied politely, attempting to skirt around his
obstacle. Wrong move.
            Chenonceaux shoved Julien roughly against the stone wall.
“Chenonceaux!” Julien protested, “What are you – ?!”
            Julien was silenced by a greedy mouth upon his. His eyes widened in
surprise. For a shocked moment he could not move. Then he began to struggle. He
tried to shove Didier away, but his attacker would not yield. He kicked and hit
and bit, and screamed for help, but could not escape the clutches of a boy
three years older and much stronger than he was.
            Didier was breathing hard and he rubbed his arousal against Julien.
Julien shuddered in horror. “I always knew you’d be a feisty one,” the horrible
boy panted in our dear Julien’s ear, and he began to trail his tongue up the
younger boy’s neck. Julien screamed more desperately, throat raw and tears
streaming down his cheeks. He moved to knee Didier in the groin, but the older
boy sensed the movement, and pushed Julien down to the ground, pinning his legs
and arms. Julien sobbed loudly. This is it, he thought. I’m done for.
            Thwack, came the sound as someone hit Didier over the head with a
board. Julien’s attacker crumpled sideways onto the ground, and Julien wriggled
his legs out from under the deadweight of Chenonceaux’s legs, which had fallen
across his own. As soon as he was free he jumped to his feet and scrambled out
of reach. Then, he peered through his tears at his savior.
            He was a dark-haired, bespectacled boy around his own age. Julien
thought he had seen him in some of his classes. He presently remembered the
body lying on the ground.
            “Is he dead?” he asked the other boy through heaving breaths,
hearing his voice shake.
            “No. He’s still breathing.” The boy approached Julien slowly and
cautiously, as one would an injured animal, holding his arm out tentatively as
if to test the air before him. He peered kindly into Julien’s eyes and said
gently, just as his hand lightly touched a shaking shoulder, “Are you alright?”
            Julien realized he was trembling all over. He felt like he couldn’t
breathe, and he was beginning to hyperventilate. He started to nod yes, but
blackness was closing in, and he couldn’t remain on his feet. “No,” he said,
and immediately fell into a dead faint. Fortunately, his new friend was there
to catch him.
            Julien awoke to a darkened infirmary, lit only by a few lamps on
various bedside tables, including his own. He reached up to rub his eyes, and
noticed there were scabs on his left cheek and chin, presumably from being
scraped against stone. His entire body felt sore and weak, and the back of his
head throbbed from being slammed into things, but otherwise he felt alright.
The only thing wrong with him at present seemed to be that he was absolutely
parched. He peered around into the blackness to locate an attendant of some
sort, and there, in the chair next to his bed, dozed the boy who had saved him
earlier that day. He reached out to grab the jug of water and empty glass that
had been set on the bedside table, but clumsily knocked over the glass with a
thud. It did not shatter, but it was enough to wake his sleeping companion.
            “I’m sorry,” whispered Julien. “I did not mean to wake you.”
            “S’quite alright,” the boy said, voice still a bit thick with
sleep. “I did not mean to fall asleep.”
“Say, what is your name?”
“Henri Combeferre, at your service.” He smiled kindly. “And, technically, I am
at your service. It took a bit of doing to get them to let me stay here. But I
had to stay here. He’s here too, and I needed to protect you. I told them I
wanted to be a doctor when I grew up, so I may as well start learning now. They
told me that if I wanted to stay, I’d have to make myself useful. So here I
am.” At this, he poured water into the glass for Julien, and handed it to him.
“Merci, Combeferre” said Julien, taking a sip. “…And thank you for saving me. I
am forever in your debt. My name is – ”
“Oh, no need. I know who you are. Everyone knows who you are. You’re Julien
Enjolras.”
Julien blushed. There was a long, thoughtful silence. “Do you know what will
happen?”
Anyone else would have taken this question as overly vague, and asked for
clarification, but Combeferre knew what Julien meant.
“No,” he said. “I hurt him quite badly, but my father has a good lawyer if he
decides to sue. I was in the right, anyway. I couldn’t have simply sat back and
let him…” They sat in silence for a while, both anxiously dwelling what could
have happened. But it was too painful for Julien, and he changed the subject.
“Combeferre, you’re in my year, correct?”
“Yes, and I know what you’re thinking. We probably don’t know each other very
well because we don’t board in the same house. I live in Edouard Hall, and you
live in Grosvenor House, right?” Julien nodded. It made sense.
“You should go to bed. I’ll be alright here.” Julien did not want to trouble
his new friend.
Combeferre replied with a surprising amount of force. “No!” then lowered his
voice glancing around to see if anyone had awoken. “I won’t leave you anywhere
near him!” he whispered with purpose.
Julien was flattered, and comforted at having a friend by his side. And, if he
was honest with himself, he did not think he would feel safe in the infirmary
with Combeferre gone, knowing that Chenonceaux was sleeping near. “Fine, then.
At least come to bed, and be a little more comfortable.” Combeferre hesitated
for a moment, then kicked off his shoes, set his spectacles on the bedside
table, and climbed into the bed with Julien.
As they drifted off to sleep, Julien heard a murmur in his ear. “Call me
Henri.”
He smiled and sighed, “Only if you will call me Julien.” And Julien slept more
peacefully than he would have if his mother had tucked him into bed with a mug
of warm milk.
***** Cheverny *****
During the next few months, the boys became inseparable. Henri’s reputation
spread, and the older boys stopped harassing Julien for fear of the slim
brunette boy’s wrath. Julien soon found that Henri’s political views were as
radical as his own were, and they spent long hours discussing the state of
France, and how they would change it when they were men.
            All too soon, the term was over, and the boys had to be separated,
going back home to their families for the summer. They wrote to each other
every week, and it was not long before they were back at school. This year,
they were both in the same house, and at age 14 (for they both had summer
birthdays), they were considered in the class of the older boys.
           In the higher grades, lessons began to focus more on classicist
literature, art, etc. in pursuit of cultural literacy. Julien and Henri learned
about ancient Greece and Rome, and began to learn Greek and Latin. It was
something that Julien had always been interested in, especially the law codes,
and Henri was fascinated by their anatomy lectures.
            Their favourite professor was Monsieur Cheverny. Monsieur Cheverny
had such an exuberant, lively air about him that neither Julien nor Henri
thought anyone on earth could dislike him. He was their history professor, and
he was an excellent one. He questioned his students, and made them think. It
was not uncommon for Julien and Henri to be seen lingering after class, asking
question after question, or still caught up in an energetic debate. He was
their role model and, though Monsieur Cheverny would never admit it (for he was
not allowed to have favourites), the teacher had taken quite a liking to the
youths as well.
            One day, after class, Monsieur Cheverny had a proposition for the
boys. “How would you two like to go on a little field trip, just you and I?”
The boys looked at each other and grinned, then gave rapt attention to their
teacher, to see where this was going. “Now, three tickets to The Myrmidons have
come into my possession, and I can think of no one I would like to take better
than the two of you.” Cheverny smiled his warm-hearted, good-natured smile, and
continued. “This play is a very old one, written in ancient Grecian times. It
is about The Trojan War. Do you know the story?”
            Both boys nodded vigorously. “Oui Monsieur,” said Henri excitedly.
“Achilles refuses to fight and then his best friend Patroclus goes to fight in
his place and gets killed!”
            Julien continued. “Achilles is so angry that he vows revenge. So,
although he knows his death will soon follow, he avenges his friend and kills
Hector!”
            Monsieur Cheverny smiled gladly at the boys’ enthusiasm, but his
expression soon turned grave. “Now boys, I must confess something. The
translation that the school provides is slightly skewed.” Both boys looked up
curiously. “Now you must promise not to tell.” The boys nodded solemnly, looked
at each other, and said, “We promise.”
“Alright. The story that you know tells of Achilles’ anger over losing a
friend. But have you ever thought that it seemed strange that he did not vow to
avenge any of his other friends killed in battle?”
Julien looked thoughtful. “No, Monsieur, I had not considered this…”
Cheverny heaved a great sigh, frustrated with the world for censoring such a
great piece of history, and taking away its true meaning. He knew he should not
be telling these boys, but he almost felt that he must. He had been watching
them over the past few months, and every day he grew more certain that their
relationship would turn out to be something… more than friendship. Those boys
were compatible down to their very souls. Even if they did not realize it yet,
they soon would. He did not want these boys growing up confused about their
emotions, or thinking they were wrong. He did not want them to suffer… as he
had… “Well… perhaps… Achilles loved Patroclus better than all of his other
friends…” he suggested, adopting his usual teaching approach.
The boys considered this, and then Henri spoke, puzzled, “Why that does not
sound like Achilles. He would not have favoured one comrade above another,
would he?”
“No, I do not think that he would have. But… what if Patroclus was not just a
comrade? Not just a friend?” Cheverny prompted, hoping the boys would come to
the conclusion on their own. He was a teacher, after all. It was in his nature.
Julien shook his blonde head. “Monsieur, I do not understand. What, then, was
Patroclus to the Great Achilles?”
“Perhaps it would help if I showed you the original translation.” Cheverny
unlocked the bottom drawer of his desk and took out a tatter old volume. He
flipped to a page that would prove his point, and let the boys look. What they
read was at first familiar. They had read the story in literature class, after
all. But as they read on, their eyes grew wide with realization. Julien looked
up first, his face flushed.
“Monsieur… it says here that they were…”
“Lovers, yes. I wanted you boys to know the truth. Achilles and Patroclus loved
each other, with all their hearts and souls. And no one should have ever taken
that away from them, especially not some rotten government-censored translator.
It ruins the story, and makes Achilles’ pain seem so frivolous and far-fetched.
It is not right. And they were not the only ones. I will give you more to read
if you wish. Harmodios and Aristogeiton. Apollo and Hyacinth. Orestes and
Pylades. Nisus and Euryalus. And there are many, many more subjects about which
the King wishes his subjects would remain ignorant. Just promise not to get
caught reading these books, or we will all be in trouble.”
Henri and Julien simply nodded solemnly. They all sat in silence for a while,
brooding over what had passed between them, and how it must never come to
light. Finally, Cheverny spoke.
“Now, as to the play. The Head has agreed to let me take you two out to see it,
seeing as you are my best students. But he does not realize that we will be
attending an underground, uncensored performance. Please do not speak of it.”
At this he smile reassuringly. “It will be just between us. Promise?”
The boys grinned, excited at the prospect of rebelling against the much-hated
authorities. “We promise.”
***** The Play *****
The night of the play came, and the boys were practically bursting with
excitement. They felt that they were involved in something important – it was a
grand statement against the crown. They felt as if they were finally getting
somewhere.
            Henri was not quite finished dressing when Julien burst in, looking
absolutely dashing in a brand new sapphire blue waistcoat that perfectly
complimented his beautiful complexion. Overcome with the joy of the occasion,
Julien swept across to Henri and greeted him with an exuberant bissous.
            Henri blushed at how close his bare chest (for his shirt had not
yet been buttoned) had come to Julien. Beautiful Julien. Wait – had he just
thought that? I mean, he is very good looking, but –
            Flustered, Henri misbuttoned his shirt, and Julien reached out to
help. Not trusting himself to make the right move, Henri stood still and
attempted to begin a conversation – anything to distract himself.
            “You look very well tonight, Julien,” he blurted, without thinking.
            Julien grinned at the compliment, caught up in his own jubilant
world. “Merci beaucoup, mon cher ami.”
           Julien finished the final touches on Henri’s costume, and then said,
“And so do you.”  And he really meant it. Henri was wearing a green waistcoat
with his suit that went perfectly with the green of his eyes. And his eyes were
really green. Not hazel, not bluish. Just green. Which is a rare sort of thing.
Julien was sure he had never seen the like.
Henri smiled in the way he always did when he was earnestly pleased, pushed up
his spectacles, and together they went downstairs to meet their professor.
They climbed into the carriage, and the Professor said something to the
coachman to ensure that their whereabouts would be kept secret, and passed him
a little bribe. The coachman nodded his assent, and they were off.  The ride
was not long, but it took them into a low part of town. One cannot put on an
illegal play in a theatre patronized by members of the government, after all.
 When Julien climbed out of the carriage, he could not believe his eyes. He was
a sheltered child, and he had never seen such poverty. Some of the buildings
were little more than shacks, and there were beggars everywhere. At the corner,
a group of scantily clad women called out to them, and Julien blushed at their
indecency. At the same time, he was enraged. Where were the leaders of the
land? Where were the swells who ran this show? Why was the government allowing
its citizens to live in such conditions?
Finally, they entered a tavern where the performance was to be, and took their
seats. The crowd was not filled with impoverished people, as Julien had
expected. (He had initially thought himself overdressed.)  Admittedly, there
were some, but it seemed that every rebel in Paris had turned out to see this
play. They were a motley crew – university students, professionals, craftsmen,
chamber maids – but they had all of the right intentions. All were there to
rebel against censorship. Julien was excited, and he was not the only one.
Henri and the professor kept trying to suppress their grins. At last, the play
began.
The acting was good, even if the costumes and scenery were low budget, and the
players truly connected with their audience.
When it came to the scene in which Achilles is told of Patroclus’s death,
Julien was struck with emotion. Tears streamed down his face, and he
unconsciously reached out to clutch Henri’s hand. Henri clasped his hand just
as tightly, and they watched the final scenes of the play in utter solemnity.
They were silent on the ride back; each absorbed in his own thoughts. Even
Monsieur Cheverny, though he would have normally insisted on a discussion, was
subdued. He could not help but smile a tiny satisfied smile, though, when he
saw that the boys were absent mindedly playing with each other’s fingers as
each looked out his own window, subconsciously taking comfort from the other’s
touch.
They arrived at the school, and the night footman took the boys back up to
their room, holding a lamp. They wearily undressed and pulled on their
nightshirts, and collapsed into their beds. But despite their drooping eyes,
neither could sleep. Finally, Henri broke the silence. “Julien?” he whispered
through the darkness to his friend in the neighboring bed, trying not to wake
the two other boys in their dormitory room. “Are you awake?” he asked a bit
louder.
Julien was awake. “Hush, you’ll wake the others,” he replied gently. “Come over
here and we can talk.”
Henri slipped out of his bed and padded across the cold floor, quickly climbing
under Julien’s covers to escape the night air. He nearly sighed with
contentment. It was bliss to have another warm body next to him. The other boys
didn’t know it, but Henri and Julien often shared a bed like this, lying
chastely together for warmth and comfort. Without any space between them, they
could speak quietly and still hear one another.
“I could not sleep,” began Henri.
“Nor could I.”
There was a short silence between them. Then, ponderously, Julien spoke.
“Henri… The play, it – it touched me deeply.” Henri nodded, and nuzzled closer
into Julien’s chest. It was best to let him speak. He was the more eloquent,
and he would speak for the both of them.
“There is so much injustice in the world, my friend… I saw many things tonight.
Beggars on the street. Women driven to the worst of professions, life having
dropped them at the bottom of the heap. I saw a play that had been censored –
the most emotional and the most human bits taken out for what a few people
viewed as “too offensive” or “improper”. And what was it that they found so
offensive? Love. Deep, human, heart-wrenching love. But because it was a love
between two men, someone had tried to erase it from history. And then I saw all
sorts of men and women – of all ages and classes, gathered together in one
place, for one cause. I realized it’s possible, Henri. It’s possible to change
the world. And if it’s possible, I am going to do it. I am going to do it.”
Henri looked up into Julien’s face, illuminated by bars of moonlight streaming
in through the window. “And I will always be there by your side.”
Julien’s smile was so saturated with his emotions – happiness, reassurance,
determination – that Henri felt he could see straight through to his friend’s
soul.
“Henri – ” Julien said the name not as a question, but as an acknowledgment. An
acknowledgement of all he knew his friend to be and all he hoped he would
become. An acknowledgment of the aching affection he had for his green-eyed,
freckled, curly haired ami.
“ – I love you,” Julien finished, as if he were about to add, “you know.” And
he had known. For a long time.
Henri was flooded with joy. He leaned up to kiss his beloved chastely on his
cherubic lips, then hugged him tightly, and nuzzled into the crook of his neck.
“I love you too,” he whispered. They drifted off to sleep in a joyful fog of
love and promise.
***** Blood Spilt *****
The next few weeks, the boys grew immeasurable closer. Not only did they spend
every possible waking hour with one another, talking, laughing or working; but
they also slept chastely beside each other in one or the other’s bed nearly
every night. Both boys took pleasure in holding the other close and breathing
in his scent, and drifting off bathed in the other’s steadily radiating warmth.
            Occasionally, they would kiss gently, more often on the cheeks,
forehead, or eyelids than on the mouth. Henri loved to press his lips to his
friend’s lovely white neck and give an affectionate nuzzle on a sleepy morning.
Julien sometimes had trouble reining in his affection in public. So passionate
a soul was he that he sometimes felt compelled to kiss Henri. When he made a
particularly clever observation or joke, for example; or when Julien caught him
fiddling with his spectacles, poring over a textbook or an essay, his heart
clenched within his breast, and he felt an overwhelming desire to display his
affection. Julien had to keep a firm grasp on his emotions to avoid any awkward
situations.
            Professor Cheverny, to his immense satisfaction and pride, noticed
this increasing intimacy. Sometimes, when it was just the three of them in a
room discussing the latest issue from class or, more often, the latest
uncensored text he had given them, the boys would feel comfortable enough to
hold hands. Likely, it was unconscious most of the time, the Professor thought
objectively. Those two simply had to touch.
            The final months of the school year passed in a flurry of tests,
essays, and assignments. Somehow, though, Julien always found time to read up
on politics and start a lively common-room debate. Henri became increasingly
involved in Julien’s political efforts, and they would often sit and discuss
the flaws of the monarchy. He no longer felt guilty participating in these
seditious tirades. On the contrary, he felt it was his duty as a loyal
Frenchman to make his country the best that it could be.
            One balmy May night, about a week after Professor Cheverny had
given them some American and French Revolutionary documents to study, the boys
sat up in the common room talking.
            “Henri, I simply can’t get over what Monsieur Jefferson wrote in
the American Declaration. It is our duty, Henri, to reform this government of
ours. A government that leaves its people to rot in the streets while its
monarchs live in luxury! And Robespierre thought so too! He rebelled against
the monarchy in favor of a Republic! A beautiful, fair republic, where every
man had his rights!”
            “But Julien… I – well – don’t you remember what Monsieur Cheverny
said in class? Robespierre was responsible for the Reign of Terror. Julien,
rivers of blood ran in the streets of Paris! Blood of innocent Frenchmen!”
            “They were far from innocent!” Julien snapped passionately. “Don’t
you understand, Henri? They were greedy tyrants who betrayed their country!”
            “But Julien, not all of them were so! Robespierre – he did not care
whether one was innocent or not. He killed men if there was even a shadow of a
doubt as to their loyalty! Often without trial!”
            “Henri! I cannot believe I am hearing you say this. Robespierre was
a hero who saved France from a tyrannical ruler! We must do the same! We cannot
allow France to continue on in its present state of misery. We have to fight!”
             “And what then?! Say we dowin this fight, what then? Become like
Robespierre?! Julien, there is areason that the Republic failed. In defeating a
tyrant, Robespierre became a tyrant himself!”
            Julien’s nostrils flared with fury, and livid spots of color
appeared high on his cheeks. “Henri, what that man did was completely
justifiable for the liberty of France! The end justifies the means!”
            Henri stared back with smoldering determination. “No. There is
always another way. Blood need not ever be spilt. I would not let one drop of
your precious blood be spilt, no matter what the cause may be.”
            “Henri…” Julien murmured, gaze softening at his friend’s display of
concern. He reached out to touch Henri’s arm, but it was wrenched away.
            Henri glared over his shoulder, then turned and muttered darkly,
“And look where all that blood has left us. Struggling once again beneath a
tyrannical reign.” Henri whipped around then, and Julien could see tears
welling up in his eyes. “I’ll not let yours nor anyone else’s blood go to such
a waste!” Then he turned and rushed away, yelling pitifully, “I’m going to
bed!”
“Henri!” Julien called after him as he stormed out of the room. The blonde-
haired boy considered chasing after him, but thought it better to leave his
friend alone. He sat brooding for half an hour before heading to bed himself.
They did not speak, and Julien did not join Henri in his bed that night.
            The next morning, there was a palpable tension between them. The
boys dressed silently in their room, awkwardly aware of each other’s presence.
But neither spoke a word. Finally, just as Henri was about to go down to
breakfast, Julien broke his silence. “Henri, wait.”
            Henri stopped where he stood, but did not turn to face Julien. He
continued. “Henri, you mustn’t be upset with me about last night. I spoke my
true feelings, I will not deny, but my political views are worthless in
comparison to how dearly I value your friendship. Please, forgive me. I was so
caught up in my own opinions that I forgot to listen to yours. And your opinion
is something I distinctly value, ami. In fact, nothing I preach could ever come
to fruition without you. I need you to be always by my side, through better or
worse. And, who knows? You might end up saving me from some awful fate I have
not the foresight to avoid. Yes, knowing my own short-sightedness when it comes
to these matters, I have no doubt that you will rescue me from some irreparable
blunder. I need you Henri. Come back to me.”
            Henri, who had turned during this genuinely apologetic speech, was
truly touched that Julien would be willing to put aside his politics, something
so dear to him that it quite defined his nature, for his friendship. And, to be
perfectly honest, Henri hated to fight, and wished the conflict to be finished.
He would leave his concerns to the side until he had need to call upon them
again. For now, he said, “Of course, cheri. I am sorry too. Shall we put this
behind us?”
            Practically glowing with relief, Julien nodded. “D’accord,” he said
simply, and together they descended the stairs.
***** Provence *****
Chapter Summary
     Their relationship deepens.
The summer holidays were fast approaching, and Julien had had something in
mind.
            “Henri?” he began one evening at supper. “I have been thinking.”
            Henri turned and looked at his friend. He nearly always liked
Julien’s ideas. “What is it?” he asked.
            “Would you like to spend the summer with me in Provence?” Julien
asked nervously. Quickly, he qualified his enquiry. “I mean, it wouldn’t have
to be all of the summer, for I am sure you would like to go home and see your
family, but I –”
            Henri’s face broke out into a wide grin. “Julien, I’d love to. I
cannot wait to meet your family. I shall write my papa, and you shall write
yours, and it will all be settled!”
            Julien laughed in relief and excitement. “Good, for I do not think
I would last another summer without you.” Julien immediately flushed and cast
his eyes downward, realizing how plainly he had just displayed his true heart.
Henri gently touched his arm, giving him a tender glance that told Julien he
need not be embarrassed. With this simple gesture, Henri had effectively said,
“I feel the same way.”
            The boys diligently organized a month-long stay at the Enjolras’
home. Sooner than either of them could believe, they were in a carriage on
their way to the beautiful vineyard chateau. They talked and laughed the whole
way, even as their carriage jostled them over ruts in the road. Yes, even when
they had to get out in order to push the coach out of the mud, they were in
good spirits. They were together, and that was all that mattered.
            After all too long on the road, the Enjolras estate was finally in
sight. Henri stared around him at the beauty of Julien’s home. The lush gardens
under the summer sun, the horses in their pasture, and the great white house
just down the lane – For the first time, Henri was slightly embarrassed about
his social status. Henri’s family may have been upper-middle class, as his
father was a successful doctor, but his wealth was nothing to this. The
Enjolrases were part of the aristocracy. He decided he would not make Julien
uncomfortable by mentioning it, however, and instead exclaimed over the house’s
beauty.
            “Julien, it is wonderful!” Henri truly thought it was.
            Julien was nearly bubbling with excitement. “Oh, Henri, just wait
until I show you around! We shall have such fun! I am so happy you are here
with me.” He gave Henri a tender smile and, unable to contain himself, a quick
kiss on the cheek before they came to a complete stop at the front doors. Henri
grinned, pleased, but did not have time to kiss Julien in return before the
doors to the carriage were opened, and they were walking towards the grand
house. All of the prominent servants had come up to greet them at the doors and
to take their things inside.
            A young footman presented himself to Henri, saying, “Excuse me sir,
but I will be taking care of you during your stay. May I show you to your
rooms?”
            Henri, abashed at being so tended to, did not quite know how to
respond, but Julien swooped in and saved the day. “There will be no need for
that Remi, thank you. I would like to show Monsieur Combeferre around the house
myself.”
            The footman bowed politely, saying, “As you wish, Sir,” and went to
help with the trunks.
            Julien beckoned Henri after him, and led him up the stairs and down
a long corridor. “Here are my rooms,” he said, gesturing to the right as they
reached the end of the hall. “Yours are just across.”
            Julien opened the door and led Henri into a small but elegantly
furnished sitting room with a fireplace. This room led into a  the bedroom,
similarly furnished. “I hope you like it, and that it is comfortable for you,”
Julien said with a host’s sense of modesty.
            “Of course, thank you.” Both were silent for a moment, awkwardly
formal, knowing that others were nearby. Henri, deciding to soften air, pulled
Julien to him and hugged him tightly before releasing him with a kiss to his
flushed cheek. The boys shared a brief grin, but then they were interrupted by
a flurry of activity as their trunks were brought in and unpacked.
            “Henri, it is nearly time to dine,” said Julien. “Dress, and
whoever finishes first will come and get the other, and then I will lead you
down to the dining hall. My parents are, I am sure, eager to meet you.”
            Henri nodded and they did just that. Henri finished dressing before
Julien and came out into the hall, knocking gently on his friend’s door. Julien
opened the door bare-chested, with two shirts draped over his arm and beckoned
Henri in. Henri could not help but flick his eyes over Julien’s leanly muscled
torso, which tapered attractively to a boyish waist at his hips. His dear
Julien really was a wonderful specimen. “Henri, which should I wear? I like
this one’s ruff better with this waistcoat, but the other is better for warm
weather,” he said, holding each shirt up in turn.
            “Wear the one most comfortable. You’ll look wonderful in either.”
Henri smiled quietly and continued. “You always look wonderful.”
            Julien flicked off the compliment lightly with a small hand gesture
and laughed. “You think me handsome, Henri, cheri?”
            Henri answered in earnest. “Of course I do. I love everything about
you.”
            Julien’s eyes shone at such a display of affection and he crossed
to Henri. He gently brushed his fingers against his dearest friend’s neck and
cupped his cheek. “Henri, my dear,” Julien whispered, “You are the loveliest
creature ever to exist. I love every bit of you, too.”
            Gently, Julien pressed his mouth against Henri’s. It was not often
that they kissed like this, on the lips, and it was normally gentle and slow
when they did. Today was no exception. The boys moved their lips tenderly
against one another’s. Somehow, though, Henri felt like it wasn’t enough. Maybe
it had been seeing Julien half-bare, or maybe it was how happy he was to be
here with him, but Henri was suddenly overwhelmed with the urge to be closer to
Julien. Closer than close. Wrapping his arms around the small of Julien’s still
bare back, Henri pulled the blonde’s hips to his. He then reached one hand up
and tangled his fingers in Julien’s golden curls and pressed ever closer.
Henri’s spectacles momentarily got in the way, but he promptly removed them and
stuck them in his breast pocket, chuckling gently. Julien chuckled with him.
Then he drew Julien’s still smiling face back into a kiss once more. After a
moment, Henri made up his mind. Experimentally, he took Julien’s lower lip
between his own lips and sucked gently.
            Julien gasped and his eyes fluttered open. Henri, concerned he had
done something wrong, began to pull away. “Non, non, Henri,” Julien whispered
quickly, pulling Henri back into the kiss. To Henri’s distinct pleasure, Julien
attempted to do the same thing to his own bottom lip. Obviously he had done
something right. And, indeed, the brunette liked this newfound intimacy in
their kissing. Emboldened, Henri licked lightly at Julien’s mouth, and Julien
gave a soft sigh and leaned in closer. Feeling it was somehow the right thing
to do in response to Henri’s lapping, Julien opened his mouth. Henri did not
miss the invitation, but was still unsure. Tentatively, he pressed his open
mouth to Julien’s. When their tongues met, a thrill went down both boys’
spines. Growing more comfortable by the second, the two kissed more
passionately than they had ever before, exploring one another’s mouths
enthusiastically. When they broke for air, they heaved in gasping breaths
before plunging back into their newfound pleasure. Henri absolutely adored the
approving hums and throaty little groans he elicited when he kissed Julien this
way. Julien absolutely adored the way Henri flushed from neck to forehead, his
freckles even cuter when smattering rosy cheeks.
            Presently, however, there was a knock at the door, and the boys
flew apart. “Monsieur Enjolras, sir. Dinner will be served in 10 minutes,” a
footman called through the door.
 “Ah, oui, un moment,” replied Julien, flustered, as he quickly threw on his
light summer shirt. At first he fumbled with his buttons, still shaky with the
heady pleasure of kissing Henri, but after a few deep and steadying breaths, he
managed to button his shirt calmly. He then finished dressing, tucking in his
shirt, and buttoning his waistcoat and dinner jacket.
 Henri flopped onto the bed and put his spectacles back on. He watched Julien
dress, not lustfully, but lovingly. He smiled happily as he gazed at his
dearest. It was a wonderful thing to know you loved someone, and he loved you
in return. When Julien had finished dressing, he turned to Henri, catching his
gaze. They shared a joyful look. A look that spoke of love, laughter, and
promises yet unsworn. “Shall we go down, then?”  asked Julien.
“Yes, I think we shall.”
***** The Parents *****
As they walked into the dining hall, Henri was careful to mind his manners.
Still, he did not know what to do. The room was grand and elegant, like nothing
Henri had ever seen. What if he made some grand faux pas in etiquette? They
would surely think him but a poor country doctor’s son, not well-bred enough to
know basic manners. Thankfully, Julien was right there beside him to gesture
him to his seat. When Henri moved to sit down, Julien whispered out of the
corner of his mouth, “Don’t sit yet. Wait for my mother and father to enter.”
            After a moment, a lordly man and a lovely lady entered the room.
Henri immediately took a liking to Julien’s mother. Bubbly, light, and
beautiful, Madame Enjolras’ demeanor could be described as nothing but
infectious friendliness and warmth. And she looked so like his Julien. The man
Henri assumed to be Julien’s father was a bit forbidding. Dark and tall, he was
not a particularly big man, but his presence could easily dominate a room.
            “Mére, Pére. Ceci est mon bon ami,Henri Combeferre,” said Julien,
gesturing to his friend.
Henri gave a polite bow and said, “Thank you very much for having me, Monsieur
et Madame Enjolras.”
            The man spoke first in response. “Je suis Le Marquis de Provence,
Armand Enjolras.” He bowed lightly. “And this is my wife, Clarice.” Enjolras’s
mother curtsied.
            “We are so pleased to have you in our home. Please feel free to ask
for anything you need during your stay here,” said Enjolras’s mother in the
most lovely and reassuring voice Henri had ever heard. He felt truly welcome by
her.
            “So, let’s eat!” said Monsieur Enjolras robustly. He pulled out a
chair for his wife, and she was seated, then the servants pulled out chairs for
the men, and they sat. Henri wondered curiously at all the ceremony. The
footmen began to serve. Though he had soup in his bowl, Henri wisely did not
touch it yet, following Julien’s example.
After everything was doled out, Monsieur Enjolras said, “Let us pray.” Everyone
bowed their heads and clasped their hands, so Henri did the same. He was, of
course, Catholic, but his family rather nonchalantly practiced. Monsieur
Enjolras presently finished his prayer, and all said “Amen.” Then the head of
the house tucked into his soup, and everyone, at last, followed suit.
The soup was wonderful. Tomato and basil, just right for summer. But in a
moment, Henri’s attention was drawn from his soup as Julien’s father spoke.
“So, boys, how was the term? I trust the exams went well?”
“Oui, Pére, exams went well for us both.”
“Good,” Monsieur Enjolras nodded in approval. “Henri,” he began, turning to his
guest, “Julien hasn’t been up to any more trouble, has he? I’ve had complaints
a bit too often from frustrated schoolmasters in the past few years. They say
he speaks out of turn.” Though he smiled good naturedly, Henri somehow got the
impression that this was no playful jibe at his son. Still, he answered as
tactfully as he could.
“No, sir, Julien is a very good student.” This was true, but Henri smiled
fondly to himself at the memory of his last passionate political outburst in
physics a few weeks ago. Something about Galileo’s repression by the Church.
“He just likes to speak his mind, that is all.” He added, sharing a little grin
with Julien.
“That’s our Julien,” interjected Madame Enjolras kindly, smiling at her son as
if his troublemaking was the absolute joy of her heart. Henri got the
impression that it actually was. He knew that Julien loved his mother better
than his father, and he was beginning to see why.
“Yes, boy, you would do well to put that passion for arguing into the Law,”
said Julien’s father gruffly. “Say, how would you like me to send you to
university in Paris next autumn?”
Julien’s eyes widened, and he imperceptibly glanced at Henri before replying,
“Pére, so soon?”
“Nonsense, boy, you’re already nearly fifteen, and you’ll be sixteen by the
time you attend. Time you started acting like a man.”
Julien sat and pondered for a moment, ignoring his father’s jibe at his
manhood. He was well used to such disapproval by now. He would love to go to
university, and get away from all he hated about boarding school. He would love
to live in Paris. But what about Henri? Would he be able to come with him?  For
now, though, he needed to give his father an answer. “Yes, Pére, I would like
that very much.”
“Good, it’s settled.”
Unbeknownst to Julien, Henri’s heart sank.  What if I am unable to attend? What
if my father won’t let me? Then Julien and I will be separated.
The next course came in then, and Henri was broken out of his glum thoughts by
a comment directed towards him. “I hope you like rabbit, Henri,” said Julien’s
mother.
Henri stared hungrily at the delicious food being served. He never had such
things at home.  “Oh, I do Madame, yes.”
“Oh, good,” she said sincerely, and Henri was left with the feeling that she
really did care. He liked Julien’s mother very much.
“So, Henri, what would you like to study at university?”
“My father is a physician, Madame, and I would very much like to follow in his
footsteps. I want to help people, and find a useful place in the world.” Henri
said this with much passion. He had wanted to be a doctor for his whole life,
and whenever he spoke of it, his enthusiasm seemed to flow out into the room.
Julien smiled to himself and thought:He is so beautiful when he speaks like
that.
“That is wonderful, Henri. I wish you all the best in pursuing your dream.
Julien is lucky to have found a friend like you,” Madame Enjolras said. Henri
was filled head to toe with the pleasure of her compliment. He could not help
but think: This wonderful lady is all warmth, kindness and sincerity. However
did she manage to marry a gruff old chanticleer like M. Enjolras?
The rest of the evening passed unremarkably. Further conversation with the
Enjolrases only served to solidify his first impressions. Julien looked well
enough, so Henri resolved not to worry about university until he had had a
chance to write his father. Finally, it was time for bed. The boys retired to
their rooms. When they had reached their doors, they faced each other in the
corridor.
Julien looked around quickly, and then embraced Henri. “Goodnight, dear. Sleep
well. I shall see you in the morning.”
Henri smiled, cupped the blonde boy’s cheek, and kissed him chastely but
lovingly. “Goodnight,cheri.”
Then they turned and opened their doors, and went to bed. Lying there alone in
a grand four-poster, Henri missed Julien. Without the warmth of his body next
to him, he felt alone. He drifted off to sleep with memories today’s fierce,
wonderful, golden kiss.
***** The Dreams *****
In the grey of the predawn, Julien awoke hot and flushed, stray curls plastered
to his forehead and neck with sweat. He was also achingly hard. He had been
having these dreams of late. Dreams of Henri. Beautiful Henri in the throes of
passion. Henri, naked, touching himself, or touching Julien. Kissing him. Like
they had kissed yesterday. Guiltily, Julien pressed his face into his pillows
and tried to bite back his moans as he stroked himself off. It was not right,
thinking of Henri in this way. At school, he was always afraid Henri would find
him in this state in the mornings. If he found out, Julien would lose him, he
was sure. But he could not help himself. Somehow, his thoughts always strayed
to his dark haired, green eyed, freckled friend. Julien could not stop
imagining those perfect lips, plump and red from kissing. Those cheeks flushed
scarlet. Henri baring his long white neck for him. Julien wanted to kiss, bite,
touch – everything. He wanted to give everything he had to Henri, and to
possess everything Henri had to give. He wanted Henri to cry out his name,
consumed with pleasure – at the thought of this, Julien spilled himself into
his hand with a strangled cry, muffled by a pillow.
            Immediately, the shame consumed him. I am disgusting. A vile
creature who values his friend only for his body and not for his soul. I don’t
deserve him. Why? Why can’t I just stop wanting him? Tears pricked Julien’s
eyes, and he cried a bit in his frustration. Then he got up, cleaned himself,
dressed, and sat awake in the chaise lounge, unable to sleep for the turmoil in
his soul.
            As Julien sat pondering in his room across the corridor, Henri
awoke with a start. For a moment, he was unsure where he was. Then, all at
once, a realization came upon him. He was in Julien’s home in Provence and…and
he was sticky. Henri flushed red in mortification, though there was no one to
see. He had had one of those dreams again. Dreams in which Julien lie naked and
spread for him, golden curls fanned out and face flushed, and Henri pleasured
him in the secret way. A way he had learned from a banned medical textbook he’d
obtained from Monsieur Cheverny’s trunk of forbidden books. He had spoken of it
to no one but, once, in the dark of night, he’d touched that secret place
inside himself. It had been ecstasy. He knew he should not, but he wanted to
give that pleasure to Julien. He had been feeling lately, that he needed more
than petting and chaste kisses. He wanted Julien to be his lover. To be his
Patroclus, or his Achilles, or both. He wanted Julien to be all his own.
Perhaps that is why he had initiated the kiss the previous day. And, given
Julien’s reaction, perhaps, just perhaps, there was a chance this dream of
Henri’s might come true.
            No, no, it could never be so. It surely could never be so.
Embarrassed at his own thoughts and actions, Henri rose and cleaned up as best
as he could, then dressed and flopped down on the chaise, embroiled in the
struggle between his guilt and his desire.
            Breakfast was decidedly not awkward. It could not possibly have
been, because both boys were endeavoring so greatly to make natural and lively
conversation. In fact, if it had been asked of Madame Enjolras (Julien’s father
was out on business long before their breakfast) or the servants, Henri’s first
morning at the Enjolras estate could not have been gayer. And, interestingly,
by acting as though they were happy, the boys eventually became happy again,
forgetting about their respective troubles.
            Julien, Henri noticed, was a good deal less reserved around his
mother than around his father. He laughed and joked with her, and told her
amusing stories of school. Contrary to his reserved politeness the night
before, he was just as familiar with his mother as Henri was with his own,
calling her “Maman” instead of “Mére.” And, to Henri’s immense surprise, he
thought he heard a little country twang come out in the speech of both mother
and child. He had never heard Julien speak anything but pure, clean French, but
now he heard a widening of vowels and a dropping of syllables even he, the
middle class doctor’s son, did not hear at home. Gradually, they slipped deeper
into whatever language they were speaking, and Henri could not understand what
was being said, but for a few scattered words and snippets of speech.
            “Julien,” he asked, astonished, during the first lull in their
conversation, looking back and forth between the two, “Where does that accent
come from?” The moment it came out of his mouth, Henri was afraid he had been
rude, but he needn’t have worried.
            The fair-headed beauties looked at each other in synchrony and,
after a pause, burst out in a short bout of uproarious laughter. Henri could
only gape on, chuckling slightly in surprised amusement.
            After Julien had his breath nearly back, he gasped out, “What is
it, city boy, never heard anyone speak Provençal?” Henri sheepishly shook his
head, aware he was being teased, but good-naturedly accepting. Julien smiled
reassuringly at him, telling him he was still loved. “I shall have to teach you
then,” he pronounced, nodding his head determinedly.
            Julien’s mother laughed gaily. “Julien, you mustn’t go around
muddying the French language!” She turned to Henri and said apologetically,
“I’m sorry. He gets it from me, I’m afraid. I’m a country gal through and
through. I shall always be a dairy farmer’s daughter at heart.”
            Henri usually would not have taken the chance, but Madame Enjolras
seemed like a person with whom he could very easily speak. He decided he could
risk impertinent questions and teasing. “Then… you were a milkmaid, Madame?”
            “Indeed, young man,” Enjolras’ mother said with a smile. “Got up at
dawn each morning to milk the cows.
            “And may I ask, Madame, have you been to Bordeaux of late?” There
was a beat of silence, then Julien laughed and swatted Henri on the arm. “Don’t
make fun of my mother, Henri!”
            Henri feigned innocence. “I wasn’t, I was simply – ”
            “Julien, what is the joke?” asked Madame Enjolras curiously, but
not at all upset.
            “It’s nothing. It’s a painting, Maman, and she looks nothing like
you,” he said with a pointed look at Henri.
            “Indeed, she does not,” Henri said with a smile. “It was a weak
joke at best. Madame Enjolras is far more beautiful than Signor Goya’s
milkmaid.”
            Madame Enjolras threw back her head, fanned herself with her hand
exaggeratedly and said, coquettishly, “Why, monsieur, you are too kind. Just
too kind.” She fluttered her eyelashes with all the melodrama her role
deserved. Julien sat back in his seat and rolled his eyes.
            “Henri, don’t flirt with my mother. And Maman, don’t flirt with my
ami!”
            Henri and Madame Enjolras laughed conspiratorially at Julien’s
annoyance.
            “In all seriousness, Madame Enjolras,” Henri began, just to be
sure. “If it is as Julien has said, and I have stepped somehow out of line,
please do not hesitate to rebuke me.”
            “Not at all,” Madame Enjolras said with an amiable smile. “And do
call me Clarice, dear. I abhor formality. Why else would I have taught my son
such an awfully common tongue?”
            “D’accord, Clarice. But, if I may say so, I should love to learn a
language so rich in cultural heritage.”
            “Haha!” cried Julien triumphantly, punching a fist into the air.
“You will be taught! Come, Henri, finish your tartine avec confiture, and we
shall go riding! Care to join us Maman?”
            “Oh, no, Cheri, not today.”
            “Very well.”
            And the next thing Henri knew he was being dragged off to change
into riding clothes, and then off to the stables. Upon entering the stables,
Henri looked around. There were six stalls, each occupied with a horse. Julien,
impatient, led him to the furthest stall on the left. Written in elegant
cursive on the door was the name “Gabriel.” Peering inside the stall, Henri saw
a majestic white stallion, quite deserving of his name.
            “This is my horse, Gabriel,” said Julien, excited to show Henri his
pride and joy. Julien loved riding, and could not wait to share his interest
with his dear friend. Gabriel nosed Julien through his window, and Julien
obligingly reached into his pocket for a sugar cube.
            “He’s beautiful, Julien,” Henri said in genuine awe.
As the magnificent beast munched, Julien led Henri to the stall across the way.
The door to the stall read, “Beatrice”. Inside was a chestnut mare, whose coat
positively gleamed as she moved. Upon their approach, she immediately stuck her
nose through her window, eager to see her visitors. “This is my mother’s horse,
but I am sure she would not mind if you rode her. She is the sweetest tempered
mare I have ever known, and she takes kindly even to strangers and
inexperienced riders.” As if to give proof to this statement, Beatrice amiably
nosed Henri, and he took her head and pet her gently, cooing praise.
Julien chuckled. “Here, give her a sugar cube.” Henri took the treat from
Julien and held out his hand to Beatrice’s searching lips. When her wet mouth
touched his hand, he cried out in laughter, unused to the sensation.
“She is absolutely enamored with you now! You shan’t ever be rid of her. She’ll
follow you around forever for just one more sugar cube!” Still laughing, Julien
said, “Alright, let her out and bridle her, and tie her to the ring on the wall
so we can saddle her. Her bridle’s there on that hook.” Henri did as he was
told, as Julien did the same to Gabriel.
After Julien had finished with Gabriel, he looked over to see Henri’s progress.
He was still struggling with the fastenings to the bridle, and was unsure of
what went where. Why, he had the ear hole over Beatrice’s eye! And poor
Beatrice just patiently tolerated it!
“Henri!” Julien yelped, trying unsuccessfully not to laugh at the hilarity.
Crossing to where his friend struggled with Beatrice, he said, “Let me help
you. Come here.” Henri stood expectantly, waiting for Julien to do it for him.
“No, silly, come here. You must do it yourself or you will never learn.” Henri
stepped closer to Beatrice, and Julien took his hand, placing it on the bridle.
Henri’s skin sparked at to touch of the warm hand over his. He is so close to
me.
“See here?” Julien said into his ear, still standing ever so close. “Take this
and slip it over herear. Not her eye.” Henri grinned sheepishly, embarrassed at
his ignorance. “There. Do you see how it ought to fit now?”
“Oui, Julien. I understand now.” Julien moved away to fetch the saddles then,
and Henri finished with Beatrice’s bridle, distinctly aware of the absence of
Julien’s warm body next to his.
The saddle was somewhat easier for Henri to grasp, but Julien still needed to
help Henri and make sure the girth was fastened neither too loosely nor too
tightly. Finally, however, their horses were saddled and they were ready to
ride. They led their horses out into the morning sunlight. What a beautiful day
it was to ride – blue skies and a pleasant breeze.
“Henri, mon cher, watch how I mount, and do the same.” Julien then put his
right foot into his stirrup and swung his left over the horse. Henri,
surprisingly, had no issues with this, and easily jumped up into the saddle.
Julien laughed in amazement. “It seems you are a natural!”
Henri was not so sure. “We shall see, shan’t we?”
“Just remember to squeeze her tightly with your thighs so you don’t fall. Keep
your heels down in the stirrups and give her a moderate kick when you wish for
a speedier gait. The reins are easy enough. Pull the right side when you wish
to turn right, and left for left. Don’t panic and pull back on the reigns. That
tells her you wish her to stop or slow down.”
Henri looked incredulously at Julien, “That is an awful lot of information all
at once.”
Julien simply gave his most winsome smile. “I have perfect faith in you. We
will start at a walk.”
Julien urged Gabriel into motion and Henri followed suit. To his surprise, it
was quite easy. Beatrice did just what he wanted her to do. After a while,
Julien pulled up beside Henri. “You seem confident enough now. Why don’t we try
a trot? It is admittedly a bit difficult at first. One must have a feel for the
horse’s rhythm. When her shoulders rise, you must already be rising out of
their way, and when they fall, you will fall to with them. This ensures a much
smoother ride for both horse and rider.”
Julien urged Gabriel into a trot and posted along with him, demonstrating for
Henri. Henri spurred Beatrice into the proper gait. It was difficult. He
couldn’t seem to find her rhythm, and sat bouncing in the saddle. He closed his
eyes in embarrassment. He didn’t want Julien to laugh and think him stupid. All
of a sudden, however, he caught on to the pattern of Beatrice’s gait. It is
because I closed my eyes. And, indeed it was. Without distractions from his
eyes, Henri could distinctly feel the mare’s body moving beneath him. Once one
gets the hang of posting, one can’t ever forget it, and so Henri was posting
like a pro in a matter of minutes.
Julien could only stare in amazement. Henri was truly a natural with horses.
Who would have thought? Then, he supposed it made sense. Henri was a very
gentle and reassuring fellow who had a way with people as well as animals. He
would make a very good doctor someday.
“Henri,” he called, “you’re an absolute natural, mon ami! It seems you have the
basics down. Let’s race!” And, with that, Julien galloped away through the
rolling grass, laughing with joy at the wind in his face.
“That’s not fair! You have a head start!” called Henri with glee, even as he
gained. Faster and faster they rode, in a constant battle to outstrip the
other. Hoof beats could be heard tumbling over the earth, resonating through
the boys’ chests. Their hair flew wild with the wind, and their cheeks flushed
with exertion. Whoops of exhilaration echoed through the air, and laughter
spouted unbidden from beaming mouths. Finally, after what could have been a
second or a year, the boys reined in their panting horses at the creek, and
tumbled off in a flurry of limbs into the grass, where they lied side by side.
As their horses drank, their laughter died down into a comfortable silence.
Neither felt the need to speak. It was enough simply to be in each other’s
company. Julien shimmied closer, and laid his head on Henri’s shoulder, and the
latter wrapped his arm around Julien in response.
Julien nuzzled his head into the crook of Henri’s neck and whispered, “Je
t’aime, mon ami.”  Henri’s heart swelled with utter content, and all he could
do was lean down, palm his friend’s cheek, and kiss him. Kiss him with all his
soul. It was not a fiery kiss of youthful passion, but a kiss of love, and both
took joy simply from their closeness, the touch of their lips, and the feel of
the other’s breath on their skin. They broke apart with sunny smiles, and a
shared look that spoke volumes.
Rising to his feet, Julien said, “Come. The horses are drifting. Let us ride
home.” So they went to the horses, which were now a little ways away, and
climbed into their saddles. They rode home at a walk, enjoying the pleasant
weather and an easy conversation about such things as school and home and
family.
Coming to the stables, they reigned in, but before they could dismount, Julien
leaned over to where Henri sat astride, and gave him one last affectionate kiss
on the mouth. Henri blushed and glanced nervously around. “Julien! Anyone could
have seen,” he hissed, embarrassed.
Julien only gave his green-eyed friend another winsome smile. “Ah, but they did
not. And I would not care if they did, anyhow.”
Henri raised a skeptical eyebrow, but they dismounted and led their horses into
the stables without another word. Little did they know that a pair of brilliant
blue eyes – eyes like Julien’s – had been watching from an upstairs window.
***** Love? *****
That night at supper, Clarice was very silent, but it was hardly noticed with
all the talk the boys – men, really – had to offer.  All she could think about
was what she had seen earlier that day from the upstairs drawing room window. 
She was sure her eyes had not deceived her. Her Julien – her only child, and
the delight of her eye – was not only grown up enough to be kissing, but had
decided to kiss other boys. Yes, she had seen him kiss his friend, and it could
not have been mistaken for a bissous. No, Julien had kissed Henri as if he
loved him.
Love. This was a new thought. Does he really love him? She studied the
interactions between the two of them, calculating. They were both so tender
towards one another. Any tease was quickly amended. When they touched,  they
always lingered. And when they looked at each other… something passed between
them. Something meant only for the two of them to witness. Yes, she was sure.
They truly loved one another.
Upon coming to this realization, Clarice was surprised to find that she was not
in the least dismayed. In fact, she felt a sort of motherly pride that she
presumed she would have felt if Julien had found himself a wonderful wife.
Henri is a very nice boy. I like him very much, and I think he will make my
Julien happy. And why should there be anything wrong with it as long as Julien
loves him? It doesn’t matter what sex your love is. I am convinced that one
cannot help whom he loves. I want for Julien the happiness and love that I
never had, and if this boy can give that to him, I will fight with all my power
to make sure he can have him. This sort of thing was perfectly legal under
Napoleon. I remember, as a child, there was gossip that a couple of young men
in town had been that way, and had had to hide it once the regime changed. In
any case, I am his mother, and I will love him regardless of whom he chooses to
love. And, with that, Clarice reconciled herself to doing what every mother
knows she will someday have to do – give her child away to another. Until then,
however, there were things to be discussed.
“Julien, darling,” she said when there was a lull in the conversation. “Your
birthday is fast approaching. I have been thinking that we might hold a ball.”
“Oh, Mére, there is no need to make a fuss over me,” Julien said modestly.
“Nonsense, cheri, I should like to get one good party out of you before you
leave me forever. Soon you’ll be at university and your poor mother will be all
alone, with no one to talk to.”
Julien’s father laughed. “Why, what about me, my darling?”
Clarice raised her brow and said in a mock whisper, so that anyone at the table
could clearly hear, “Yes, just think of it. The only one I will have to talk to
is him!”
Everyone laughed good spiritedly at the joke. Henri thought this was the first
time he’d actually seen Julien’s father laugh. Clarice’s spirit was simply
infectious. No one went unaffected by her good humor.
“Alright, Mére, as you wish. You know I would do anything to please you.”
Her face lit up with glee, and she turned to her husband, “Well, Armand, are we
to hold a ball for Julien’s birthday?”
“Yes, yes, I think it a splendid idea. One last grand party before Julien’s
final year at boarding school.”
Clarice could practically burst with joy. She was a very social creature, who
greatly enjoyed being around people, and she absolutely loved giving parties.
“It is settled then! I shall make all of the arrangements.”
They talked and laughed over party plans for the remainder of supper, withdrew
to play a few rounds of vingt-un, and everyone went to bed quite happy.
When Henri and Julien reached to doors of their respective rooms, Julien gave
his freckled friend a brief kiss goodnight. They smiled at one another
lovingly, and then turned and entered their own rooms.
Henri did not blow out the light immediately, for things were on his mind. As
he undressed, he thought about the party – what was essentially a going away
party before Julien went to university a year later. Henri needed to write to
his father.
In his dressing gown, he sat down at the writing desk, and composed the
following letter.
Dearest Father,
My fondest greetings to you, Mother, and my sisters.
I hope that you are all well, and I look forward to
seeing you in a month’s time. Truth be told, I have
had it in my mind to ask you about attending
university in the autumn of next year. I feel that my
secondary education is drawing to a close, and that
a year more will be more than sufficient to prepare
me for what is to come. You know that I have always
dreamed of becoming a physician, like you, and I
hope to take the entrance exam to Decartes, so that I
may have the opportunity to work at the Necker, as it is one
of the only teaching hospitals in France. I look
forward to your response, so that I may know whether
or not I have your permission and support in pursuing
this next autumn. Give all of my love to Mother,
Jeanine, and Annette.
                                    Affectionately,
                                                            Henri
 
            Henri had included nothing about his wish to follow Julien to
Paris. He wanted his father to see him as independent. He hoped with all his
heart that his father would be able to send him to university. Henri was almost
positive he would have his father’s consent, but he wasn’t sure about the
money. He would simply have to see.
***** A Mother's Advice *****
The weeks flew by, and the date of the Julien’s birthday ball was fast
approaching. Even Julien, who could have cared less about a birthday
celebration, was getting a bit excited. His birthday coincided with the fall of
the Bastille, and he felt a distinct sort of pride in secretly celebrating a
day so hated by the monarchy. It was his honor to have been born on an
anniversary of a day so important to his ideals.
            Henri, for his part, was simply glad to be able to spend so much
time with Julien. They passed their days riding, running, playing chess, and
any number of other things. A few times, they rode into the nearby village to
have a look at the market. Everyone seemed to know Julien there, and they were
all genuinely friendly. It was expected that they would be respectful to the
son of their landlord, but they seemed to genuinely like Julien. Henri was not
surprised. What was not to like? Twice, they went to the beach for a day, and
Henri absolutely gloried in the sun and the sea. There was nothing like it.
They spent their evenings reading, supping with the family, and playing rounds
of vignt-un, among other things. Henri could not have cared less what he did,
so long as he did it with Julien.
            Henri had not yet heard back from his father, and he was beginning
to worry. He wrote again, asking if his letter had been lost, and also sent
individual letters to his mother and sisters. In all other respects, however,
he was happy.
            Julien was thrilled to have Henri with him for the summer. He loved
to spend time with his green-eyed, freckled friend (more freckled after the
beach), and couldn’t get enough of his odd wit and intelligent conversation.
Julien never wanted to be away from him, and had an aching desire to please him
in any way possible. Anything Henri wanted he would be happy to give him, if
only to see a smile on his face.
            Still, to his mortification, the lusty dreams of his friend plagued
him. One night, Henri had fallen asleep in Julien’s bed reading, and Julien had
not the heart to wake him, so he curled up beside him as he often did at
school. In the twilight hours, he had awoken with a cry from one of these
dreams to find Henri asleep beside him. In a panic, he had rushed off to the
bathing room to take care of his problem, praying that Henri would not wake.
Thankfully, he did not, but Julien was not able to return to bed after that.
Julien’s guilt and shame over his debasing thoughts of his friend could not be
shaken. No matter how desperately he wished to master his passions, he could
not escape the dreams, and the thought of disrespecting someone he loved and
valued more than anyone in the world tortured him. If only Julien had known
that Henri was having the same problems.
            Despite the shameful dreams both boys had at night, they always
successfully banished the thoughts in the morning, and managed to grow closer
over the days spent in each other’s company. Clarice scrutinized their
relationship from afar, and daily her conviction grew that her son truly loved
this dark-haired boy from the city, and that the dark-haired boy loved Julien
in return. Still, there was something holding them back. A fear for propriety,
she was sure. The boys did not quite understand that there was nothing wrong
with their love, and tried to hide it, sometimes even from each other. Clarice
wanted Julien’s happiness more than anything, and there was only one way. Yes,
she would have to speak with him. But how?
            The day before Julien’s ball came, and Henri retired early from
what had been an exhausting day of learning how to fence. Julien moved to
accompany him, but his mother called to him. “Julien, cheri, may I speak with
you?” Julien turned to face her “It’s about the ball,” she added with a smile.
            Julien turned to his friend and gave him an apologetic glance, then
turned to his mother. “Oui, Maman, of course. Bonne nuit, Henri.”
            “Bonne nuit, Julien.”
            After Henri left the room, Clarice motioned for her son to come
closer. Julien nervously sat on the chaise beside her. It was clear from his
mother’s expression that this was not about the party, and he was anxious to
hear what his mother could possibly have to say to him that was giving her such
nerves. “Maman, what is this really about?”
            Clarice heaved a steadying sigh. “Julien, it is about your ami,
Henri.”
            Julien’s brows shot up in surprise. “Maman, what is the matter?
What has he done? Do you dislike Henri?”
            Clarice smiled kindly, and patted her son on the shoulder. “Non,
non, mon cher, of course not. Nothing like that.” Julien looked visibly
relieved, but still uneasy at the strangeness of this conversation. He looked
askance at his mother, but did not interrupt.
            “Julien, cheri, you love Henri very much, do you not?”
            “Of course, Maman, he is my dearest friend.”
            “Oui, Julien, but do you love him as more than a friend?” she
blurted out, shooting straight to the point.
            Julien’s eyes widened and he visibly blushed. He froze stock still,
clenching his hands into the upholstery of the chaise. “Whatever can you mean,
Maman?” He knew exactly what she meant. How does she know? He inwardly
panicked.
            “Julien, my darling, I think you knowwhat I mean,” she said gently,
covering his white-knuckled hand with her own.
            “Maman, I – that is, I – well –”
            Clarice, seeing that her child was in distress, rushed to clarify.
“Julien, it is alright. It is nothing of which to be ashamed. I wish you only
happiness, my dear, that is what I wanted to say. That was the purpose of this
conversation. I wish you to know that I will love you no matter whom you choose
to love!”
            Julien took one long calculating look at his mother, and then
crumpled into her arms, all of his tension leaving him at once. “Maman,” he
said softly, his voice breaking. Then, muffled by her shoulder, he began to
cry. Great sobs wracked his frame as he let out all of the feelings he had kept
bottled up for so long.
            “Maman!” he wailed into the crème muslin veiling her shoulder. “I
love him somuch. I cannot help it, Maman. I always want to be with him, and
when I am not my heart aches. I would do anything for him – anything to make
him happy. I want to see him smile. I love his conversation, his wit, his very
soul! Everything. I always want to kiss him and – and –” Here he stopped, and
pulled away, wiping away his tears, and staring abashedly into his lap.
            Clarice smiled sympathetically at her son’s cathartic confessions,
glad to see that he had finally admitted his feelings. But, as much as it
embarrassed her, she felt that she needed to speak with him about one more
thing. “Julien,” she said tentatively. “Were you going to finish your
sentence?”
            Julien looked up at his mother, wide eyed and scared and hopelessly
embarrassed. “No, Maman. It is nothing.”
            Clarice, however, with her usual penetrating clarity, asked gently,
“Do you want him to be your lover?”
            “Maman!” her son cried, absolutely scandalized. “You cannot just
ask a question like that!”
            “My dear, it is perfectly natural. I hold no illusions that you are
ignorant of that part of love. You are quite old enough to know by now, and I
am sure you do. If you have any questions, though, please know that you can
come to me.”
            “Mére, you are being ridiculous!”
            “Julien, I gave birth to you. Do you think I do not know the way of
things?”
            “Well, even if I didwant Henri to be – to be that, he would not
wish the same!” Julien spat defensively. “So I will not be needing your
assistance!”
            He moved to stand, but Clarice wrapped her arms around him and
pulled him down to the chaise. Julien returned to his seat, but crossed his
arms with his back to his mother. “Oh, Julien, mon cher, do not take things so.
I only wish to help. How do you know your Henri does not feel the same way?
Have you asked him?”
            “No, Mére! Why would I ask him such a thing?!”
            “Well I happen to think that he loves you just as much as you love
him, and that he wants all of the same things you do.”
            “How could you possibly know that?!” Julien exclaimed, whipping
around to face her.
            “My sweet, I have seen the way he looks at you. I am a woman, and
we have an intuitive sense of such things. And he lets you kiss him, does he
not? And he kisses you?”
            At this, Julien calmed down a bit, if only to satisfy his curiosity
about how all of this had begun. “Yes, mother, but how exactly have you come to
know this?”
            “That first day, I saw you kiss him down by the stables after your
ride. I have watched the two of you ever since, just to be sure. I am certain,
now, of your mutual affection.”
            Julien blushed, remembering how concerned Henri had been that
someone could have seen. Well, it seems that someone had. “Maman?” he began,
his defensiveness replaced by tentative hope. “Do you really think he loves me
as I love him?”
            Clarice smiled at her son, and took him into her arms in a warm
embrace. “Oui, cheri, I think he loves you very much.” Then, holding him by the
shoulders at an arm’s length, she scrutinized her vulnerable son. His face was
flushed and streaked with tears, and his brow furrowed. Cupid’s arrow sends the
heart all aquiver.
Determinedly, Clarice proposed her solution to all of her son’s woes. “There is
only one way to find out, isn’t there, Julien?” She reached up and smoothed
Julien’s knitted brow, and lifted his chin so as to meet her son’s teary eyes.
“You must tell him how you feel.”
Julien looked down, understanding, at last, that his mother had only meant to
help. Nearly imperceptibly, he nodded, knowing what he had to do.
Finished with her speech, Clarice stood. “And now, I think it is time for us to
retire. We have a big day tomorrow.”
            Julien stood with her, and graced her with a tight embrace. “Bonne
nuit, Maman.”
            “Bonne nuit, Julien.”
            Nothing more needed to be said. They went to bed, hearts full of
hope, and nerves, and love.
***** Henri's Gift *****
The day dawned, and Julien was fifteen. The house was all a-bustle, servants
weaving this way and that, their voices echoing through the halls, decorating
and cooking and cleaning for the ball. Before going down to breakfast, Henri
knocked on Julien’s door. When the blonde answered and saw his friend, he
flushed, remembering his conversation with his mother the night before. However
am I to tell him? This thought pervaded his every thought, and set his gut a-
churning.
            Julien led his friend into his room, and shut the door behind them
so that he could continue dressing. Henri, oblivious to Julien’s discomfort,
swept his friend up into an exuberant embraced and gave him an affectionate
bissous. Then, as an afterthought, kissed him soundly on the lips, grinning
from ear to ear. While this raised Julien’s hopes somewhat, it did nothing to
quell his nerves.
            “Happy Birthday, Julien!” said Henri with congratulatory zeal.
“Here, I have something for you.” He proffered the package that had been
awkwardly clutched in his hand throughout his greeting.
            “Thank you, mon ami,” Julien said with a warm smile, taking his
gift. “You really needn’t have gone to all the trouble.” Even so, his heart
beat wildly with the pleasure of receiving a gift from his beloved. He cared
not what it was. He would cherish anything so long as it was from Henri.
            Sitting absently on his bed, he began to tear open the paper.
Henri, suddenly overcome with a gift-giver’s nerves, began to make excuses for
his present. “I thought it best to give it to you this morning, for I am sure
you will be quite overwhelmed with gifts and compliments tonight. It is really
nothing much, and I hope you will like it, but if not, it is no matter.”
            At this point, Julien had finished opening his present, and stared
at it for a moment with lips parted. It was a waistcoat – scarlet red with
beautiful brass buttons and golden chording, and expertly made. He stroked his
fingers gently over the fabric. It was not overly fine, but of a grade one
could wear every day if he so wished. Julien absolutely loved it, but he had
been silent for too long.
            “It is truly alright if you do not like it,” Henri said
apologetically, breaking the silence.
            “No, no, Henri, I love it! It is perfect, ami, thank you!” Jumping
up, he put it on, and looked in the mirror. It fit him perfectly, but there was
a good amount of room left in the seams for it to be let out as he grew.
            Julien laughed at his dashing self in the mirror. “But where did
you get my measurements, Henri?”
            Henri was abashed. “I asked your mother for them. I – Julien I
wanted you to be able to stand out from the crowd. To rebel against the norm,
if you will. I want you to look like a – like a revolutionary. I know it is an
odd choice of present, but – ”
            “Nonsense, cheri, it is wonderful! I shall wear it very often.
Thank you, again. In fact, I believe I shall wear it tonight.”
            “Oh no, Julien, it is not nearly fine enough for such a ball!”
            “Henri, it is my birthday and I shall wear what I wish!” Julien
said with a lordly tilt of the head, happily playing the advantage of the day.
            Then he burst out in a smile. “But come, dear, let us go down to
breakfast! No doubt they have been waiting for us.”
            There was more than his family waiting at breakfast – there was the
breakfast itself. All of Julien’s favourite things were served. Hot croissants
with apple-butter, crepes with butter and sugar, strawberries, and anything
else you could possible want for breakfast. Best of all was the café au lait,
in Henri’s opinion. They were simple things, true, but that was how Julien
liked it.
            All the morning was spent in talk, and the day flew by. At around 4
o’clock, everyone retired to ready themselves for the party. Henri did not see
his friend again for nearly three hours as the family attended to their
toilettes. Henri bathed and shaved (he did not yet need a shave very often, but
wanted to look fresh tonight). His footman attended to his clothes, and combed
his hair. Henri was not used to that sort of attention. When the footman tried
to attack his hair with a curling iron, he had to use his utmost control to
refuse him graciously. His hair curled quite tightly naturally as it dried,
though the footman was not to know that, and Henri was deathly afraid of being
burned and singed by a coal-heated iron. Finally, he was dressed and
presentable in a turquoise colored waistcoat and his best tailcoat, cravat tied
in an elegant knot about his throat.
            He dismissed the servant and went to knock at Julien’s door. The
footman attending Julien answered, and told Henri rather dismissively that
Julien was still dressing. Julien, however, came rushing to the door in his
shirtsleeves to greet his friend. “Nonsense, Gaspard,” he told his footman,
“Henri is welcome at any time. Come, Henri, talk with me while I dress.” And so
he came into Julien’s room and sat on the bed as Julien dressed. They talked
idly, not wishing for a real conversation to be heard by the footman.
            Henri noticed that Julien’s mind seemed to be dwelling on something
else. Sure his friend was simply worried about the night to come, Henri said
teasingly, “I suppose there will be endless aunts and uncles for you to speak
with tonight. Why, we shall hardly see each other, I am sure, for all of the
congratulations and pretty young ladies that will doubtless be heaped upon
you.”
            Julien’s answer was shockingly bitter. “I wish those sycophantic
fools would stop thrusting their daughters at me. It’s always like this.” Then,
as if to himself, “I never should have let my mother talk me into this.”
            Henri was extremely concerned. He could not have known the turmoil
in Julien’s soul, but still Julien was agonizing over how to tell Henri his
feelings. “Julien, what is wrong?” Henri asked in surprise. He did not know
where this black mood had come from.
            Julien, finally seeing that he had painted his heart upon his
sleeve, smiled reassuringly and laughed. “It is of no matter. There are certain
cousins I should rather not see, shall we say. Worry not, friend. We shall have
a wonderful evening nonetheless. Gaspard, where are those brass cufflinks?”
            It was clear that the conversation was over, but Henri was
unconvinced. Julien’s cheerfulness was forced. He knew his friend well enough
to know something was amiss, but he could not ask outright with Gaspard in the
room. Servants never had much discretion.
            Julien turned the conversation to horses and finished dressing.
Henri had to admit that his blond friend looked absolutely glorious. Golden
curls shone like the sun and blue eyes glimmered, deep and bright. The scarlet
waistcoat would stand out against the masses of dull colors. Julien’s clothes
were like his soul that night – unlike any others. It seemed as if Julien’s
spirit and passion for life and for his ideals were emblazoned upon his person.
            Henri felt something stir deep within him as he gazed upon his
friend, and he felt suddenly that he could weep for joy. Julien – Oh, how he
loved his Julien! He ached for him. He ached to please him, and to have his
approval, and to kiss him, and to hold him close forever. He wished never to be
parted from him.  He wished to say all of these things to the one he loved, but
instead he said, “You look wonderful,” and left it at that.
            They smiled at one another. “Merci boucoup, mon ami. And so do you.
Thank you, Gaspard.” The man left the room upon his dismissal, and Henri stood.
Julien crossed to his green-eyed friend and kissed him gently on the cheek.
Julien then frowned thoughtfully at Henri, and the brunette thought perhaps he
was going to tell him what ailed him. “Henri, I – ” Then he smiled, and shook
his head, looking away. “Shall we go down? The guests will be arriving soon.”
            Henri nodded, unwilling to press his friend. If he did not wish to
speak of his woes, Henri would not force him to do so, especially if it would
ruin his night. Smiling amiably, he took his friend’s arm and descended into
the ballroom.
***** The Ball *****
The ballroom had been stunningly transformed. Lights twinkled everywhere and
the entire space glowed invitingly. Henri felt as if he had stepped into a
fairy forest. The musicians had already begun their initial set, and the first
guests were arriving. Out of the corner of his eye, Henri saw Julien take a
deep breath and affix a smile on his face before descending the staircase to
meet his guests. Henri could not leave him, knowing they would soon be
separated for hours, and tagged along to greet the group that had just arrived.
The party consisted of an old woman and a young one, who was clinging nervously
to the arm of a young gentleman. The old woman was clad in a ridiculously old-
fashioned ball gown and a powdered wig, of all things. One would have thought
she had come straight from the court at Versailles in Marie Antoinette’s day.
Her face was powdered white and her cheeks and lips smeared with rouge. It was
all Henri could do not to laugh.
Julien had clearly met this woman before, and was not struggling with the shock
of first seeing such an apparition. Still, he did not seem particularly happy
to see her.
Great Aunt Marlena, for that was who she was, strode flamboyantly over to
Julien and pinched his cheeks, exclaiming at his age, and how generally well he
looked. Julien bore it gracefully.
Glancing around for a way out of the situation, Julien spied Henri standing
next to him. He seemed visibly relieved, and gently interrupted the fawning
tirade. “Oh, Aunt Marlena, have you met my dear friend, Monsieur Henri
Combeferre? Monsieur Combeferre, this is my Great Aunt Marlena.”
Henri suddenly found himself the victim of an extremely vicious attack on his
cheeks. For Julien, though, he would bear the pinching. He smiled and said,
“Very pleased to make your acquaintance, Madame.”
“Oh, charmed, dear, charmed. Julien, my dear, what family did you say your
friend was from? Chenonceaux?” Both boys cringed at the hated name, but Great
Aunt Marlena didn’t seem to notice. “They are a very nice family, and one of
the boys, Didier, I think it was, is really going to be quite something. We
think he’ll become a favorite in the King’s court. A promising youth, very
promising. Do you know him, cheri?”
Julien interjected sharply. “No, Aunt Marlena. Henri’s family name is
Combeferre.”
Aunt Marlena continued on obliviously, as if Henri was not there. “Combeferre,
did you say? Why I’ve never heard the name in my life, my dear, you simply must
be mistaken.”
Julien’s eyes glinted with a cold rage. Not only had his Aunt dared to mention
the name of that hated boy, but had praised him, mistaken him as a relation of
Henri’s, and then insulted Henri beyond measure by implying that his family was
of no importance. It was through sheer willpower that he maintained his
composure. “No, Madame. I assure you that my friend knows his own name,” he
said measuredly.
Luckily for everyone, the young gentlemen with the nervous looking girl on his
arm diverted the conversation. What would have happened otherwise  would most
likely have been disastrous.
“My dear cousin Julien,” said the young man. Have you met my fiancée, Madeleine
de Monmartre?”
The girl smiled shyly at Julien and proffered her gloved hand, which Julien
took and kissed properly, with a bow. “I am enchanted, Madamoiselle.”
“Madeleine is a very accomplished young lady. You simply must play the
pianoforte for us, my darling! Julien, she is astounding!”
The girl smiled, and blushed furiously. She swatted at her fiancé’s arm with
her fan. “Constantine! Don’t be silly!”
“Ah, but I am always silly in your presence, my dear. I cannot help myself. I
am lovesick to the core!”
The couple exchanged a tender look. Julien’s heart clenched in his throat. How
he wished he could look at Henri that way in public. At that moment, Aunt
Marlena spied another victim across the ballroom and waddled away as quickly as
she could, calling out to a young girl and her mother. Presently, the orchestra
stuck up a lively waltz, and Julien’s cousin swept his fiancée onto the dance
floor. As guests arrived, everyone came to give Julien his congratulations.
Uncles, aunts, cousins, friends, friends of cousins, business partners of
uncles, wives of business partners, children of couples – it was a never-ending
slough of cant.
Henri tried his best to stay by Julien through it all, but soon found himself
obliged to dance a minuet with a young lady without a partner, and it was all
downhill from there. The dark-haired boy was caught in a whirlwind of light,
color, music, laughter, and snippets of conversation. He was bumped to and fro,
here and there, introduced himself countless times to faces he would never see
again, and didn’t catch a glimpse of Julien all the while. No wonder his friend
had been dreading this. Parties were arduous work!
After what seemed like a dozen unwelcome dances with young ladies whose names
he would never remember, Henri escaped into a dark, cool hallway with a glass
of wine. The darkness and relative quiet was a relief. He was alone but for a
rather preoccupied couple several yards down the hall. He paid them no mind.
Absolutely exhausted, Henri sank to the floor in a heap, and gulped downed his
cool wine. His throat was parched. It was hot in that ballroom, and he had to
scream over the din to be heard.
Taking out his handkerchief, he patted at his forehead, then took off his
spectacles to knead the bridge of his nose. He curled up, crossing his arms
about his legs, and rested his head on his knees, breathing deeply. How he
wished that Julien were with him. How he wished that he could ease his friend’s
mind, and take him away from all of this. To be alone together, away from the
cacophony of cant and the drunken squeals of laughter. If only “polite” society
would depart from these stiffly structured social institutions, and allow
people to simply be themselves. Allow couples to hold hands to their own music,
and friends to meet without worry of being judged. For all of the wealth and
glamour in the ballroom tonight, no one in attendance could be said to be truly
free. And wasn’t freedom worth more than material wealth? The world was upside
down that it did not see its folly. A revolution was in order. To free men from
the grips of poverty, and to free others from the grips of social taboo. Soon.
Soon the revolution would come.
Presently, the orchestra finished its last piece of the set, and supper was
announced. Henri stood gravely and set his shoulders. Time to face what was to
come.
As Henri entered the dining room, he was shown to his seat. Much to his
surprise, he was seated at the right of the head of the table, next to Julien.
It was not often that people who knew each other were seated next to one
another. Parties were opportunities for socializing, and that usually demanded
a seating chart that would mix people into unlikely pairs. Henri was seated
just as Julien entered the room, and Julien winked kindly at his friend, and
stood behind his chair.
When the noise had died down, and everyone seemed to be in their place, Julien,
still standing, cleared his throat. All present gave him their attention, and
Julien began his speech.
“Thank you, everyone, for coming. I am glad to have you here with me to
celebrate my fifteenth birthday. I am sure that I could expound upon my
feelings of gratitude for hours, but I do not believe boring you into a puddle
would be particularly endearing. Therefore, my good friends and cousins, please
enjoy your meal, and trust that the brevity of my address is not a slight, but
an act of love, and a complement to your appetites. Bon appétit.”
Everyone seemed visibly relieved that they had not been made to listen to a
long-winded thank you speech, and supper was served. Julien glanced quickly at
Henri with a knowing smile, and nudged his knee under the table. Henri could
not have been happier for a break in their ordeal.
They chatted politely with the guests seated near them, but neither boy paid
much attention to anyone but his friend. When supper finally settled to an end,
Julien had been absently stroking Henri’s palm under the table for full fifteen
minutes, and they had a sense that they had stood up together against a
formidable force, and come through to the other side. They were comrades in
arms, fighting all pressures to succumb to societal expectations. They were
positively jubilant at a battle won without offending anyone’s sensibilities.
So, as the music began again in the ballroom, and couples began to filter off
to dance, Julien and Henri quietly slipped away, giggling giddily (and perhaps
a little bit drunkenly) at their triumph.
“Did you see Cousin Matthieu’s ridiculous affectation?!” Julien exclaimed in a
stage whisper, positively bubbling with glee, as the pair escaped down a
darkened hallway. “You’d have thought he’d just been named King of the
Ottomites for all his carrying on, and not just an assistant clerk at the
magistrate!”
At this, Julien was consumed with another fit of laughter and, clutching his
sides, he leaned into his friend, who was in a similar state. Gasping for
breath, they slid down a wall to sit panting on the floor in tired contentment,
still grinning ear to ear. After a moment, however, Julien realized that he was
practically sitting in Henri’s lap and, blushing, he moved to stand. Henri only
held him closer. Nuzzling into Julien’s smooth, white neck, he whispered
conspiratorially. “Let’s escape all this. We can go out to the gardens and lie
in the grass behind the rose hedges. Stare up at the stars.”
Julien was inclined to agree, and let himself be held close for a moment
longer, basking in the warmth of his dearest friend’s touch, breathing in his
clean, earthy scent. This time, though, he pulled away, and stood. He held out
a hand to his dark-haired friend. “Come. We must return to the party. The
guests will be leaving soon, and they will wish to bid me adieu. You would not
have me neglect my duties?”
Henri stood to face his friend, and gave him a wistful little smile. “I would
if I could. I would keep you all to myself.” But Henri contented himself with a
little peck on Julien’s cheek, and turned away to straighten his waistcoat and
cravat.
“You would?” Julien asked his friend, a queer expression on his face.
Henri swiveled back around to face Julien, confused, having forgotten what he
had said. “Would what?”
“You… you said you would keep me all to yourself if you could,” Julien
whispered, almost in a daze.
Henri’s eyes widened and he looked his friend up and down. What was wrong with
Julien? He seemed so… so vulnerable. Henri was unaccustomed to seeing doubt in
his fearless revolutionary’s eyes. But there it was, along with another
emotion, difficult to place. Though… it looked decidedly like… longing. Could
it be that Julien longed for Henri as Henri longed for Julien?
Furrowing his brown in determination, Julien continued on courageously, even
without an answer. “What if… what if I told you I wanted you to – to keep me
all to yourself? What if I told you that I wanted to give all of myself to you?
And that I pine for every part of you, in turn?” As he spoke, he moved closer
to his green-eyed companion.
“Julien…” Henri breathed. They were so close now that they could feel each
other’s breath on their skin. Eyes met, and their gaze could not be broken.
Understanding thickened in the inch of air between them, and soon they realized
that air was the only thing holding them apart.
Desperately, their lips crashed together, all reason flying out the window.
They did not care for the guests. They did not care that they could be caught
at any moment. All they felt was their searing need, thrumming between them.
Hearts pounded, cheeks burned, fingers wandered and, panting, the boys pressed
their bodies impossibly close, as if they could melt together and become one.
Then, all in a moment, the music came to an end in the ballroom and there was a
loud clatter in the kitchens below. The boys flew apart, startled. But they
relaxed as a waltz began, and they realized nothing was amiss. Still panting,
they looked at each other and chuckled nervously.
An awkward silence pressed in around them for a moment until Julien, setting
his jaw, spoke. “Henri, follow me and play along. I am afraid our guests will
have to see themselves out tonight.”
Julien marched towards the ballroom and Henri trailed in his wake, curious to
find out what Julien had planned. Just as they reached the ballroom, Julien
flung an arm about Henri’s shoulders and leaned weakly into his support. Henri
understood. Setting his expression to one of genuine concern, Henri led his
indisposed friend into the ballroom.
“Take me to my mother, Henri,” Julien murmured into the brunette’s ear. Henri
complied, and began to help Julien towards where his mother stood by the grand
staircase. As they wended their way through the crowd, concerned family members
began to crowd in around them, wondering if Julien was alright.
“Julien is not feeling well. It has been an exciting night, but I assure you he
will be well with a good rest.” Still, people flocked around, and the rumor
that the man of the evening was gravely ill spread like wildfire. By the time
they reached Clarice, a sizeable crowd had gathered, everyone shouting orders
at everyone else to fetch a doctor, or a glass of water, or a fan.
Thankfully, Clarice knew just how to diffuse the situation. She called a
footman to carry Julien up the stairs, and the boys promptly escaped the
nattering crowd. Meanwhile, Clarice assured the endless masses of aunts,
uncles, cousins, and friends of step-aunts-in-law’s fathers that her son would
be quite well in the morning, thanked everyone for their concern, and
encouraged them to return to the dance floor. In a very few minutes, everyone
was back to their business as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. And
Julien and Henri were safe upstairs.
The footman had been very concerned about Julien’s wellbeing, but Henri assured
him that he had the situation under control. His father was a doctor, and he
was absolutely sure that  Julien needed only rest, but “Thank you, I will ring
if any assistance is needed.” At long last, the footman left, mollified now
that he had done his duty.
They waited until they heard the footman’s steps recede into the distance.
Then, they burst out into jovial laughter.
“Oh, Henri, mon ami, what wonderful acting!”
“Me? Why, I am not the one who had to be carried up the stairs, utterly limp!”
Julien giggled coyly and tackled Henri to the bed. Henri kicked off his shoes
and they lied facing each other, still grinning headily with their triumph.
“Iwas good, wasn’t I?”
Henri smiled radiantly and nuzzled his freckled nose against Julien’s. Their
foreheads touched, and dark curls intermingled with fair ones. “Yes. You were
wonderful. You are wonderful.”
Julien felt so happy he could burst. His nerves fizzed pleasantly, like
champagne, and he simply could not help but kiss. Holding Henri close, he
peppered his friend’s face with sweet kisses. Cheeks, nose, forehead, eyelids,
ear – anything he could reach. Henri flushed under the attention, and Julien
thought his pink face was heart-breakingly adorable.
“Mmmh, Henri,” Julien murmured dreamily between lazy kisses and nuzzles. “My
lovely Henri. Beautiful, handsome, smart, lovely Henri. Love... Love… Love...
Love you.”
Henri had had enough of being admired, however, and took Julien’s face between
his palms to kiss him firmly on the mouth.  Julien did not mind a bit, but for
the usual awkwardness as Henri’s spectacles interfered. But that was quickly
remedied, and the young lovers continued to kiss lazily, tongues sliding
slickly against one another amidst pleasured hums.
After a while, Henri pulled away to nibble gently at Julien’s jaw. “Julien,
darling, how did your mother know not to call a doctor? How did she know that
you were not genuinely ill, I mean?”
“My mother knows I haven’t such a weak constitution and – well, to tell you the
truth, Henri, she knows about…erm… how I feel… about you.”
Henri’s eyes darted sharply up to meet Julien’s, displaying a tenuous mixture
of hope and fear. “You mean..? Well, Julien, I must ask – and be plain with me
– how exactly do you feel about me?”
“Oh, Henri, you know I love you, heart, soul, mind and body,” Julien gushed.
Still, he hesitated in saying what had yet to be said. “But… ah… what my mother
noticed was that… Shall we say, when I look at you, Henri, it is often with no
small amount of lust.” Julien was scarlet with mortification, and he rushed to
qualify his statement, “Oh, I know you may not feel the same way, Henri, but I
felt I must tell you the truth and – ”
Julien was unable to finish, as Henri crushed his mouth to Julien’s and kissed
him with a fervor he had never felt in all his life. Julien loved him! And
Julien wanted him! Julien was his, and he was Julien’s!
Breaking away, panting, words tumbled from Henri’s lips in his mad rush to
assure Julien he returned his sentiments. “Oh, amour! My darling, darling
Julien I do feel the same. Be my Achilles or be my Patroclus! I care not which,
just love me!” They kissed again, with searing heat, desperate for one another.
Blood sung in their veins, and there was a mad fumbling at clothing, and Henri
had his hand up Julien’s shirt, needing to touch his perfect skin. But then it
wasn’t enough and he was obliged to pull away to properly unbutton the
offending article of clothing. Julien had already removed his suit coat,
waistcoat, shoes, and stockings when the footman had put him to bed, so all
Henri needed to focus on was Julien’s shirt buttons. Julien, however, had also
decided to focus on his buttons, and two frantic pairs of hands on one
fastening weren’t doing any good, so Henri batted away Julien’s hands and
continued to bare the blond boy’s beautiful lean chest.
“God, you’ve no idea how many times I’ve thought about this,” Henri muttered as
he struggled with a particularly difficult button.
Julien, who had somehow managed to sit up and nip at Henri’s neck while his
shirt was being undone, looked at Henri in happy amazement. “You’ve thought
about this?”
Henri blushed, but nodded. “Of course I have. How could I not? You’re
gorgeous.”
Julien, tired of waiting, tugged his shirt off halfway undone, flung it across
the room, and pulled Henri into another fierce kiss. “I have too,” he said with
a shy smile. Henri beamed in triumph and, trying to kiss Julien and unbutton
his suit coat at the same time, leaned in and bumped his nose against his
love’s. They laughed together, breathy with need.
“Why don’t I take off my clothes and you yours, and it’ll move more quickly,”
Julien said sensibly, already tentatively tugging at his trouser fastenings. 
As rapidly as Henri was shedding his layers, Julien, who had been half-
undressed already, was finished first. Embarrassed at his nudity, he dove under
the bedclothes before Henri could see him and watched as Henri’s beautiful skin
was bared. “What have you thought about?” Julien ventured, feeling suddenly
timid. “When you thought about… this?”
Henri glanced up from unfastening his trousers and turned to look at Julien in
bed. Seeing his love ready for him nearly killed him. His pupils blown wide and
heart racing, Henri tugged off his remaining clothing and climbed onto the bed.
“How about I show you?” Without further ado, Henri proceeded to straddle Julien
where he lay beneath the coverlet and kiss him within an inch of his life.
Henri knew not what had caught hold of him, but his wild longing for Julien
threw every sensible thought to the winds. He could not feel fear. He could not
feel shame. All there was in the world was his Julien. Scarlet lips warm and
pliant beneath his own. Golden curls, glinting in the lamplight. Cheeks, highly
coloured and hot to the touch. Creamy pale skin glowing, radiating warmth and
light. Flashes of blue eyes from beneath a delicate fringe of white lashes. The
sweet little sounds he made as Henri ravished his mouth.
Julien’s strong fingers fisted in Henri’s chestnut curls and Henri’s hands
wandered, mapping every inch of the boy he had come to love. The bedclothes had
long been shoved away and forgotten, and the Henri pressed Julien down to lie
beneath him. Pulling away at last, gasping for breath, he stared down at
Julien, drinking in the sight. He was absolutely debauched, curls in disarray,
flushed and sweaty. His cock, more perfect than Henri had ever imagined it,
curved upward, thick and hot.
“You are so beautiful,” the dark-haired boy whispered in awe, stroking absently
up and down Julien’s chest.
Julien leaned up and captured his love’s lips in a sloppy, needy kiss. “Touch
me,” he breathed. Henri was only too happy to oblige. Pulling Julien into
another fierce kiss, he lowered his golden head onto the pillow and reached
between their bodies to palm Julien’s aching hardness.
“Ohhh!” Julien groaned into Henri’s mouth, canting his hips into his friend’s
grip. Henri hissed, half in pleasure and half in pain, as Julien’s fingernails
dug into his shoulder blades. Then, scrambling to give Henri pleasure in
return, Julien reached down to touch Henri. Pulling Henri’s hips down onto his
own, he lent his grip to their mutual bliss. They thrust together, delighting
in the delicious chafe of cock against cock, slick with pre-cum.
“Ahhh, Julien!” cried Henri as the blond thumbed over the head of his cock.
Desperately close now, he bit down onto Julien’s neck, giving a strangled moan.
“Nng, God, Henri. So close,” Julien panted, bucking into his friend’s hand.
Then, being young and hot-blooded, Henri came hard onto Julien’s abdomen with a
strangled cry. Julien followed closely after, thrusting into the wet heat
between them.
Henri collapsed atop his love and, for a moment, they simply lied there,
heaving in great gulps of air. Then, with a loving kiss, the dark-haired boy
rolled off Julien and lied on his back, staring up at the ceiling in a
pleasured daze. Julien nuzzled closer. Nestling his head in the crook of
Henri’s neck and shoulder, Julien sighed in contentment and wiped up their mess
with the abandoned sheets. He’d have them cleaned later. Julien took Henri’s
hand in his and began absently tracing patterns on his palm, every now and then
bringing it to his lips.
They lay like that for a long while, pressed side to side, while Julien kissed
Henri’s fingertips,  his warm palm, a narrow wrist, his pale forearm, freckled
shoulder, and eventually his mouth once more. Languidly, they kissed,
memorizing each other’s mouths – every tooth and every ridge, and whatever they
liked one another to do best. They were still like that perhaps a quarter of an
hour later. Julien had straddled Henri and was lying atop him, nipping at his
pulse point, while Henri stroked up and down his smooth back. A gentle breeze
swept across their skin through the open window.
Julien leaned up to kiss Henri on the mouth. He did not think he would ever
tire of kissing those sweet lips, or feeling Henri’s warm breath on his face.
He could never have enough of Henri. Breaking away, he looked down at his love.
Henri still looked like pure sex. His dark brown curls, gleaming reddish in the
candle light, were mussed and sweat-dampened. His lean body, firm beneath
Julien’s own, radiated warmth. The adorable freckles that usually dusted across
Henri’s cheeks and the bridge of his nose were irresistible on his flushed
face. He looked so innocent… but he definitely was not. Julien smirked wickedly
at the thought, and his cock twitched with renewed interest.
Henri noticed. “Why are you looking at me so?”
“Because I want you so,” Julien said simply, leaning down to kiss Henri quiet.
            Henri threw his head back with a delicious moan as Julien reached
down to stroke him to hardness. “Julien, darling, you want to..?”
            “Do it again? Yes.”
            Pupils dilating, Henri surged up to kiss Julien hotly, affirming
that the interest was mutual. Henri immediately took control, pushing Julien to
lie beneath him on the bed. He kissed him with an intensity new to both of them
and ground his hips against his love’s. Both relished the friction.
           “Ahhh… Henri…” Julien drawled in pleasure, grinding his filling cock
against the skin of Henri’s hip. “Henri, wait, wait,” he said suddenly, gently
pushing the brunette away.
            Henri pulled back sharply, fearing he had hurt Julien. “Julien,
what is the matter?”
            Julien shook his head rapidly, reassuring his lover. “No, nothing…
it’s just… Don’t you want to… ah… try something else?”
           Henri’s cheeks burned as a thousand filthy things flashed into his
mind. Looking into Julien’s wide blue eyes, he gulped. “What did you have in
mind?” he asked carefully.
            “I do not quite know,” he admitted blushfully, eyes downcast. “I
had thought you might know more than I.”
            Henri’s heart was in his throat. He knew what he wanted, but he was
afraid to ask. What would Julien think of him? “There… there is a thing that I
know of.”
            The blond boy looked up at his love, complete trust in his eyes,
willing him to continue.
            “You see… ah… there is a place inside of a man whereby he can
receive pleasure. It feels… excellent. Almost as good as touching here.” Henri
ghosted his hand over Julien’s prick, eliciting a little hiss.
            “So you want to take me, Henri?” Julien asked, and Henri blushed
furiously at his frankness, embarrassed. “That’s alright,” Julien said with a
reassuring smile, reaching up to cup Henri’s cheek, “I want you to take me,
too. I want to give you all of me. I want to feel you.”
            Henri looked visibly relieved, and his eyes sparked in
anticipation. He kissed Julien hard, assuring his love he would do his very
best for him. “Do you – ” Henri cleared his throat nervously, “ – do you have
any oil or..?”
            Julien leaned over to rummage in his bedside drawer and came up
with a pot of hand cream. It would have to do. Henri nodded, and Julien handed
it to Henri, looking unsure of himself. “Ahem… what do I do now, Henri?”
            Henri gave Julien a swift peck on the lips and gestured towards the
head of the bed. “Lie back, love, and spread your legs for me.” Julien did as
he was told, and made himself comfortable on the pillows. Henri slicked his
fingers with the hand cream and crawled nearer to Julien, who was lying flushed
and ready for him.
            Henri swallowed hard and, green eyes wide, he drank in the
beautiful sight of his love debauched. “I’m going to stretch you now, amour.
Just relax. It will be easier that way.”
            Julien nodded and shut his eyes, and Henri gently parted the blond
boy’s pert buttocks and pressed a finger to his tight entrance. Julien jumped
slightly at Henri’s wet touch in such an intimate place. “S’cold,” he muttered
by way of explanation, but did not object to Henri’s ministrations. And,
although the dark-haired boy kicked himself internally for forgetting to warm
their makeshift lubricant between his hands before touching Julien, he felt
that the other boy was quite willing to continue. So, ever so slowly, Henri
kneaded Julien’s entrance and worked a finger inside.
Julien drew deep breaths at the intrusion and his cock throbbed with arousal.
His fingers drifted towards his aching prick, but he refused to touch himself
until Henri was inside of him, knowing himself well enough to know he could not
last very long.
“Is this alright?” Henri asked, working his finger slowly in and out of Julien.
“Yes, it’s good, Henri. Keep going. I can take another,” Julien said with a
little cant of the hips. Henri, pleased to find that his love was enjoying the
new sensation, eased another slick finger into Julien’s tight heat. After
wriggling his fingers and stretching Julien’s opening, Henri searched for the
nub he knew would give Julien such pleasure. The green-eyed lad did not wish
his love to be uncomfortable in the slightest, and if he could just find –
“Oh,” was Julien’s response when Henri pressed the secret place. Rapidly, Henri
repeated the action, and he had Julien bucking wildly into his touch within
moments, moaning unintelligibly. 
“God, Henri, what is that?!Ah!” Henri thought he had never seen anything so
beautiful as the perfect arch of Julien’s back. Julien continued to speak,
words tumbling from his lips to float away on the wind unheeded. But their
meaning was not unheeded. And Henri was more than willing to oblige Julien’s
requests. “More, more, more,” the golden-haired youth began to chant quietly –
like a prayer. Gently as always, Henri slid a third finger in beside the
others. Julien groaned sinfully at the stretch. The dark haired boy thought he
might just cum from the sound. The sound of his Julien moaning his name.
            Ever so slowly, Henri moved his fingers apart, easing Julien wider.
He whispered praise and endearments, kissing and petting whatever skin he could
reach. Finally, just when Henri did not think he would be able to wait any
longer, Julien cried out, “Henri, take me now. Now, love, I’m ready.”
            Henri slipped his fingers out and leaned up to kiss Julien hard on
the mouth. “You’re sure?” he asked. But Julien’s eyes conveyed only trust and
longing – no fear.
            “Yesss,” the blond youth hissed, throwing his head back onto the
pillows and jerking his hips upward to collide with Henri’s. The green-eyed boy
took that to be a definite affirmation of their mutual desire, and wasted no
more time. After coating himself liberally with lubricant, Henri positioned
himself at Julien’s entrance and pushed slowly into his delicious, tight heat.
            Both boys groaned loudly. Fully sheathed, Henri paused for a
moment, panting, to look down at his beautiful Julien. Julien would not have
that, however and, fisting his fingers in Henr’s chestnut curls, he pulled him
down into a heated kiss. “Move,” the blond groaned as he broke away from
Henri’s mouth, wrapping his legs around his waist. And Henri did.
            They rocked together gently at first, but gradually they increased
their pace. There were no more words to be said. Their bodies, in tune with
each other, instinctively knew how to give what the other needed. Henri wrapped
his fist around Julien’s throbbing length and stroked it in time with his
thrusts, much to Julien’s pleasure. In ecstasy, Julien cried out incoherently
and scrabbled at Henri’s back, surely marring Henri’s skin with lovely red
scratches. Henri did not mind in the least.
            Overwhelmed by the onslaught of stimulation – both from within and
from without – Julien spent himself first, gasping his love’s name. Henri
followed a moment after, giving into the clench of Julien’s body as he tensed
in pleasure.  He thrust several more times into Julien’s willing body, riding
out his climax. Then, having cum for the second time in under an hour, Henri
collapsed atop his beloved, exhausted.
            There was a long moment of exquisite silence, punctuated only by
the sound of labored breathing, and both young men felt as if their souls had
run together, never to be separated again. With a soft groan, Henri slid out of
Julien and flopped down by his side, nestling his head into the crook of his
neck and shoulder. Julien’s gut clenched in a mixture of embarrassment and
pride as he felt Henri’s hot seed drip out of him and onto the sheets.
            However, feeling happier than he had ever been in his memory, the
golden youth could not help but pull Henri to him in a joyful kiss. Grinning at
one another, they kissed lightly, reveling in the simple touch of skin – the
familiar smells and glowing warmth. Positively fizzing with joy, they giggled
and touched and held each other close and nothing needed to be said because
everything already had been. After a while, someone thought it sensible to
clean up a bit, but after they had done this, they collapsed into bed without a
care in the world, and drifted off to sleep in a glorious haze of love.
***** Together, We Stand *****
The next morning (rather, the next afternoon, for no one in the house had
awoken at their usual hour), the post arrived while the family sat at
breakfast.
            “Here, Henri, my lad,” said Monsieur Enjolras, “you’ve a letter.”
            A servant handed it to the bespectacled boy and, seeing the
handwriting, he exclaimed, “It’s from Papa!” He looked meaningfully at Julien
and tore it open.
                        My dear boy,
                                    I apologize I have been so long in writing,
but I wished
                                    to be sure of my position before I
forwarded your good
                                    news. It just so happens that I am
acquainted with the
                                    resident extremity surgeon at the Necker.
(I did him a
                                    small favour during the war). I have been
in touch with
                                    him these past few weeks and he has assured
me
                                    that you will not only have a place at
Decartes next fall,
                                     provided you pass your exams (as I am sure
you will,
                                    with flying colors), but that you will have
an internship
                                    at the hospital when you finish your Bac.
He has told me
                                    that any son of mine would be most welcome
at the
                                    finest institute of medicine in France, and
that he will be
                                    more than willing to see to it that your
university expenses
                                    are taken care of. I am sure we shall be
ever in his debt.
                                     Congratulations, my dear boy, and I look
forward to seeing
                                    you soon. Your mother, Jeanine, and Annette
send their love.
                                                                                   
                                                            Your Loving Father,
                                                                                               
M. Q. Combeferre
            “Henri, what is it?” Julien asked, touching his friend’s leg under
the breakfast table. He had been watching pure excitement dawn on friend’s face
during his perusal of the letter, and he was curious to know what was to be
celebrated.
            Henri met Julien’s gaze, beaming with delight. “I’ve a place to
study at Descartes next fall, and an internship at the Necker once I finish!”
            “Oh, mon ami, congratulations!” cried Julien and, not caring that
his parents and all of the servants could see, he embraced his freckled friend,
wishing him only happiness. “You will make the most splendid physician, won’t
he Maman?” said Julien in glee, turning to face his mother.
            “Of course you will, Henri. I do not know anyone better suited,
what with how well you took care of my Julien last night.” She gave him a
conspiratorial wink.
            Both boys looked at her, shocked, and flushed bright red. Monsieur
Enjolras continued to read his mail as if nothing was amiss. And, really,
nothing was. Clarice turned away and smiled secretly into her teacup, and the
boys smiled secretly at one another. A new chapter had opened in their lives.
And they would rise to meet its challenges together.
End Notes
     OK, you guys, I have been working on this, on and off, for about two
     years. It is the longest work I have ever written. Any feedback is
     appreciated.
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