[ The summer break with Courfeyrac has, without a doubt, been fantastic. So many nights have been spent on adventures, late night talks, and oh so many kisses. Nothing... More than that for now. Combeferre does not wish to rush things. Not with someone so important to him. Emelien has been exceptional about it, as well.
Patience in all things, romance and otherwise.
Combeferre stretches again as he makes his way to Courfeyrac's room. Yesterday had been a day of work. A mind is a terrible thing to waste and they do not want to see too much of each other. Thus, some days Combeferre requires his intensive study. Today is a day for the two of them to enjoy company.
They have seen each other naked before. It's a consequence of knowing each other for so long. Combeferre doesn't think twice as he knocks on Courfeyrac's door right before opening it. ]
I sincerely hope you're out of b--
[ Oh. That... That is something he could have never expected, even with the years of experience in dealing with Emelien Courfeyrac. Combeferre blinks and blinks as he takes in the image. His cheeks slowly turning a bright red. It's... Much more attractive than it should be. ]
[ It's probably characteristic of Emilien that he doesn't immediately even notice that something might be amiss. Perhaps not amiss, but definitely noticeable. A particular habit of his: once he sees the truth of things, it's not uncommon that he forgets entirely that he might be a step or two ahead of his learned friends. People in general he knows very well to expect misguidedness or ignorance from, but not them. And especially not Combeferre.
He looks up when the door opens. Not the deer in headlights one might expect, or anything resembling it. If the picture he presents is surprising, the grin he gives paints it in familiar colours. ]
Ah. Just the man.
[ He turns his back on his most revered scholar, displaying his bare spine framed by open halves of one of those irritating back zippers that make it so that getting in and out of clothing is a two-person job. It's all very archaic. And if they don't do this with clothing intended for men, what's the point in putting it on a dress?
Something, probably, about the underlying subtle misogyny Courfeyrac is often amazed to realise hides behind the most seemingly mundane things. He doesn't understand all that quite so well, though. Jehan could probably explain. ]
[ 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. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
no subject
Patience in all things, romance and otherwise.
Combeferre stretches again as he makes his way to Courfeyrac's room. Yesterday had been a day of work. A mind is a terrible thing to waste and they do not want to see too much of each other. Thus, some days Combeferre requires his intensive study. Today is a day for the two of them to enjoy company.
They have seen each other naked before. It's a consequence of knowing each other for so long. Combeferre doesn't think twice as he knocks on Courfeyrac's door right before opening it. ]
I sincerely hope you're out of b--
[ Oh. That... That is something he could have never expected, even with the years of experience in dealing with Emelien Courfeyrac. Combeferre blinks and blinks as he takes in the image. His cheeks slowly turning a bright red. It's... Much more attractive than it should be. ]
no subject
He looks up when the door opens. Not the deer in headlights one might expect, or anything resembling it. If the picture he presents is surprising, the grin he gives paints it in familiar colours. ]
Ah. Just the man.
[ He turns his back on his most revered scholar, displaying his bare spine framed by open halves of one of those irritating back zippers that make it so that getting in and out of clothing is a two-person job. It's all very archaic. And if they don't do this with clothing intended for men, what's the point in putting it on a dress?
Something, probably, about the underlying subtle misogyny Courfeyrac is often amazed to realise hides behind the most seemingly mundane things. He doesn't understand all that quite so well, though. Jehan could probably explain. ]
Zip me up?
no subject
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?