[ There are very few moments when Combeferre is ill prepared. He always has an answer. He always has a solution. Even in some of their more complicated debates, Combeferre can dwell on his answer. He can think.
Watching his best friend and new lover twirl around in a very pink dress, showing a delicious sliver of back, is hardly doing his mental capabilities any favors.
His eyes sweep up and down as he tries to at least understand what's going on. Courfeyrac hardly seems uncomfortable. When is he ever? But to walk in on something like this, surely he should apologize.
Then again, lovers too must learn things about each other friends could never know.
Combeferre crosses the room, face red, and does as he is told. His gaze rests on the curve of Courfeyrac's shoulder and up to his neck. He looks... He looks beautiful. ]
Where...
[ Where does he begin? Congratulations, Courf. You have struck him speechless. ]
[ Well if anyone could, it's hardly surprising that it's Courfeyrac who's stepped up to claim that achievement. ]
Pretty good, right?
[ The dress is soft and flowy and fits perfectly - as well it might. This is no shame-soaked clandestine snatching at fragments of a curiosity turned sickly need from having festered too long. He likes this dress, so he has bought it. For himself. And he likes the shoes, the ones with the bows on them, so he has bought those too. They hadn't been part of the plan, but in passing them he'd realised that it would be a waste to wear this with just any old pair of trainers.
The fact that his hair is a little longer than generally encouraged for men anyway is pure coincidence. ]
Tell me the truth.
[ He grins at his lover, bold as brass, and holds his arms out away from his sides a little in the manner of one of those catalogue poses. Sebastien's own dumbstruck countenance seems almost not to register. ]
On a scale from yes to fuck yes, how great do I look in this.
[ How long has this been going on? Surely, it has to be recent. They have known each other for so long. Courfeyrac has hardly shown this side of himself before.
Interestingly, Combeferre himself finds no fault with this. Far from it. He can already feel his heart start to thump hard against his chest. His lover has always - will always - look absolutely stunning. Now is certainly no exception.
Yet, Combeferre finds himself too bashful to look Courfeyrac directly in the eye for longer than a moment or two. ]
Uh...
[ Sebastien, be reasonable. You're going to have to use your words at some point or another. ]
You-- [ Or simply exhaling in surprise will do. Maybe? ] Very much a yes.
[ He's not sure about 'fuck' yes yet. ... Yet.
At last, Combeferre looks to his lover with a confusion he rarely ever shows. ]
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Watching his best friend and new lover twirl around in a very pink dress, showing a delicious sliver of back, is hardly doing his mental capabilities any favors.
His eyes sweep up and down as he tries to at least understand what's going on. Courfeyrac hardly seems uncomfortable. When is he ever? But to walk in on something like this, surely he should apologize.
Then again, lovers too must learn things about each other friends could never know.
Combeferre crosses the room, face red, and does as he is told. His gaze rests on the curve of Courfeyrac's shoulder and up to his neck. He looks... He looks beautiful. ]
Where...
[ Where does he begin? Congratulations, Courf. You have struck him speechless. ]
no subject
Pretty good, right?
[ The dress is soft and flowy and fits perfectly - as well it might. This is no shame-soaked clandestine snatching at fragments of a curiosity turned sickly need from having festered too long. He likes this dress, so he has bought it. For himself. And he likes the shoes, the ones with the bows on them, so he has bought those too. They hadn't been part of the plan, but in passing them he'd realised that it would be a waste to wear this with just any old pair of trainers.
The fact that his hair is a little longer than generally encouraged for men anyway is pure coincidence. ]
Tell me the truth.
[ He grins at his lover, bold as brass, and holds his arms out away from his sides a little in the manner of one of those catalogue poses. Sebastien's own dumbstruck countenance seems almost not to register. ]
On a scale from yes to fuck yes, how great do I look in this.
no subject
Interestingly, Combeferre himself finds no fault with this. Far from it. He can already feel his heart start to thump hard against his chest. His lover has always - will always - look absolutely stunning. Now is certainly no exception.
Yet, Combeferre finds himself too bashful to look Courfeyrac directly in the eye for longer than a moment or two. ]
Uh...
[ Sebastien, be reasonable. You're going to have to use your words at some point or another. ]
You-- [ Or simply exhaling in surprise will do. Maybe? ] Very much a yes.
[ He's not sure about 'fuck' yes yet. ... Yet.
At last, Combeferre looks to his lover with a confusion he rarely ever shows. ]
When did you start wearing women's clothes?