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Ambush (Prouvaire): November, 1831
"Please, Audric," I said, and took his hand. He pushed me away, as he always, always did, his normally pacific face creased into a frown. "No, Jehan." And again I touched his shoulder. "Whyever not?" "Julien." I laughed. "Julien doesn't give a damn where you sleep." "He does," Audric said stubbornly, and left the café: as quickly as he could. I did not follow him, only watched him go: stalwart, dependable, gentle Combeferre, whose every gesture for the last month had screamed of frustration. This was not a fancy, nor was I the first to remark on it; with Aimery abroad and Julien -- Julien, we could all see the repressed desire in our friend and colleague. The next night, I decided to shock him out of his daze. With Christophe's assistance and Théo's compliance in buying the poor man drinks, I met him in the dark passageway behind the Corinthe shortly before one in the morning. "Bonsoir," I said to him, and he turned to stare at me. Perhaps Théo had been slightly overenthusiastic, for he wavered a moment before he recognized me. "You've gone mad again," he said, his voice thick and bemused. "Do you think I'm mad?" I asked him, and I embraced him. He blinked down at me, then touched my cheek. "Sometimes, mon cher, I'm sure of it." I kissed him lightly and grew dizzy from the alcohol that lingered on his breath and the passion that inflamed him at that slight touch. He clung to me, crushing our mouths together, and tangled my careful curls with desperate fingers. I felt him give in to me, if only a little, and then, with every particle of coquette I could summon, I pushed him away, kissing him all the while. "Not here, my dearest, not here." There was a lodging house nearby that asked no questions at all. They must have thought me a whore with a stumbling, drunken client; how they would have laughed if they had known my only payment was to be his pleasure. When we reached our tiny room, he kissed me again and pulled me close, murmuring, "Jehan, please," in my ear. I could not have denied him then even if I had planned to abandon him. It was simple enough to tug up my skirts for him -- he fumbled with the petticoats so clumsily that I was sure he had never dealt with them before -- and let his soft, warm weight bear me backward onto the bed. But even in the vertiginous haste, he was Audric; I could not erase that infinite concern even by hooking a leg around his waist and tugging him close. He touched me gently and asked, "Am I going to hurt you?" "No. God, no." I put an arm around his shoulders and kissed him. "Do you think I am such a fool I would seduce you unprepared?" Even in the moonlight, I could see him blush. "Jehan --" "Stop thinking," I demanded, and kissed him again. It drew up his courage, and he pressed into me, sighing. I whimpered for him -- perhaps an act, perhaps Jeannette's reaction to this new lover, or perhaps my long-denied affection for him bubbling forth, as young as the day he first kissed me. How many times had I pictured this very scene, his strong hand closing about me as he kissed my neck? The immediate lightning arousal of the Corinthe had left him, or he had pushed it aside, preferring instead to slow himself and be as careful as if I were still virgin under his hands. Within minutes, my half-staged whimpers had changed to murmurs of "More," and "Please," which he brushed aside. "Don't worry, Jehan," he said, and kissed me gently, pulling away when I would have deepened the kiss. He stopped moving with a great conscious effort and only teased me, too slowly, too lightly. "I would never hurt you." "Move, damn you." I tried to force the issue, but he shifted his weight and effectively pinned me. I had forgotten how considerable he was, and there was little to remind me. He had not even taken off his pants, let alone his shirt. "It's all right," he assured me, running his fingers through my hair. "It is not!" I clung to his shoulders, bit his lip, writhed, and reached up to pull him close. "You'll drive me mad." He smiled at me in the darkness and began to move again, taking pity on me or on himself. "You'll be fine." "God, Audric, harder." I am sure I said it twenty times, and he heeded none of it, as if I were truly only there for him and not myself. I was on the brink of tears with frustration when he pulled away and I wailed. "Shh, cher. Turn over?" He was no longer calm, and his hands shook a little as he helped me. When I had settled on my knees, my skirts around my waist and my hands well-braced, he began again in earnest. I felt every slick inch of him as he slid into me, and I pushed back against him with all the eagerness that he had not let me display. I heard him talking to me -- broken, far off, too distant to understand more than the occasional word: beautiful, insane, God, desired. I was past words with the surrounding heat of his hand and the pressure of him inside me, finally at just the right pace, just the right place to send me shuddering into climax. After I knew only that he was saying something, my name, and thrusting still, clinging to my hips, until he found his own release and relaxed, regaining himself. Almost as soon as his breath had evened, he said, "I must go home." I had known it was coming, and that he would reject me as soon as a modicum of sanity returned, but it still stung to be flung aside so casually by a man still softening inside me. "So soon?" "Jehan --" He kissed my cheek when I turned to look at him, then pulled away. "He'll be waiting for me." "Are you so easily satisfied?" I smiled at him with all the challenge I could muster. "Why, I remember nights when you could hardly sleep after thrice that." Audric stood up, frowning at me. "You exaggerate." "Sometimes, but not this time." I tugged off my bottom petticoat -- a potential embarrassment and too cheap to bother washing -- and stood. "You have not grown so old as that, dear friend." "Perhaps my conscience has grown." He kissed me on the cheek, briskly. "Thank you." "It was lovely," I told him, letting him hear the wistfulness in my tone. He did not need to know how many years I had desired more from him than he was willing to give, but he should at least understand that I did not want him to leave. "Yes. It was." He reached for his hat, fallen off in the earlier madness. I bit my lip. "Perhaps some other time --?" "I doubt it, Jehan." "At least walk me home," I demanded, taking hold of his arm. He blinked at me and seemed to remember my dress. "Of course." It was not enough, but it would do. "Thank you, chéri." And we started for my flat, ignoring the prying eyes of the lodging house's other patrons.
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