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Contrite: October, 1831
On a blustery October day, Jehan knocks on Bossuet's door after class. He has a book tucked under one arm and a bouquet of flowers in his free hand. "Coming," distractedly from within. In a minute the door opens. "Hello, you." Jehan beams at him. "Hello, chéri." Bossuet grins back. "Come in." Jehan offers him the flowers. "Gladly." Bossuet chuckles, and kisses his cheek before taking them off his hands. "You're looking well." "So are you, mon amour," fondly. "No black eyes," Bossuet agrees amiably. "I-- Bother." He looks about rather helplessly for a place to put the flowers. Jehan shakes his head a little. "Oh, dear. I hadn't thought of that." After a moment, he settles for the nearest level surface. "There. Kiss me?" Jehan sets down his book and settles into Bossuet's arms comfortably. "They can't stay there forever," between kisses. "I expect not," contentedly. "Théo," softly. "The way you smile at me. You make me feel I am the most wonderful person you know." Bossuet touches his cheek lightly. "So you are." Jehan blushes. "Only sometimes, beloved. Sometimes I don't deserve you." "Cher," he protests. Jehan kisses him softly. "You are good and patient, kind and long-suffering as a saint. I should not treat you the way that I have in the past. I --" he bites his lip. "I won't. Not ever again, however wicked I may wish to be at some mad moments." "Oh, petit--" Bossuet returns the kiss and hugs him. "I'll never leave your side unless you ask me to," Jehan says into his shoulder. "Come and stay with me, my dearest, if you wish; there's more than enough room. How sweet it is to hold you, to love you -- mon ange, how have you tolerated my childishness all these years?" Bossuet laughs, stroking his hair. "Because it was yours. Ah, Jehan, have you any idea how fond of you I am? Even at your most vexatious." "You're mad," chiding him. "I swear to you, I won't do anything if I know it upsets you," a kiss on the cheek. "Oh, Théo, how did I never know how lucky I was?" "Not so very lucky," amused. "Not half as lucky as I am." Jehan blushes again. "If I were as good as I ought to be, then you would be lucky, perhaps, but I have not been half so good to you as what you deserve." "Sweet one." Bossuet kisses his cheek. "Come sit with me." Jehan sits beside him on the bed, running one hand across his shoulders and back again. "Dearest Théo. Are you enough of a fool to trust my word -- when I have been cruel enough to give it and break it many a time, when I should never have been thoughtless to you?" "Quite that much of one," comfortably. "Haven't you noticed?" "Oh, love," as if the words hurt him. "You have always been too good to me." Bossuet caresses his arm. "Not at all." "I have always been too terrible to you." Bossuet grins. "Not at all." Jehan frowns. "Often. Too often." "If you say so," kissing his cheek. Jehan sighs and nuzzles his shoulder. "I can't convince you, can I?" "I love you," Bossuet says simply. "And I love you." Jehan kisses his cheek. "I feel that I owe you some sort of penance, some great and lasting act of penitence to prove to you that I am not as young as I was, I will do my utmost not to hurt you again -- and yet I don't know what you would accept." "My dear man, you owe me nothing of the sort," returning the kiss. "I'll happily take your word, if you like." Jehan makes a small unhappy noise. "You're too forgiving." Bossuet laughs gently. "We all have our faults, chéri." Jehan shakes his shoulder a little. "I won't impose on your goodwill. I won't." "All right, love," soothingly. Bossuet ruffles his hair. "Don't fret so, petit." "Don't fret so little," Jehan says, poking him in the side. "Ouch. Fretting never did anyone any good." "You've never tried," fondly. "How would you know?" Bossuet shrugs, burying a kiss in Jehan's hair. Jehan tugs him closer. "Beloved." Bossuet rubs his back lightly. "Dearest." "I've been terrible to you," with teary contrition. A small chuckle. "Very rarely terrible. Exasperating, sometimes, but no worse than that." "Do stop," Jehan says, thumping his shoulder. "I can't apologize properly if you keep pretending I've nothing to apologize for." Bossuet laughs outright. "All right. All right. Shall I sulk and be difficult?" "If you like." Jehan wipes his eyes on his sleeve. "It's nothing more than I deserve." "Ah, my love." Bossuet puts out a finger to catch a stray tear. "Don't you know I'd forgive you anything?" "Yes, but -- but perhaps you shouldn't." "Perhaps." He smiles crookedly. "I mostly think it's better to forgive than not." Jehan kisses him lightly. "Dearest." Bossuet kisses him back. "Chéri. It's all right." Jehan strokes his shoulder. "Would you like to move in with me?" "I would like that very much," smiling at him. "Oh, good." Jehan kisses him again. Bossuet pulls him close. "Dearest," once they pause for breath. "I will never do anything to hurt you, never, my love. I will deserve you. I promise." "All right," caressing his hair. "Five years ago --" Jehan kisses him again. "Hm?" "It's been five years since you first kissed me. To the day." Jehan touches his cheek lightly. "It seems five minutes." "It seems forever." Bossuet kisses his forehead, smiling. "I can't imagine life without you, you know." Jehan bites his lip. "God, Théo." "What?" Jehan attempts to blink away tears. "You are so sweet." Bossuet chuckles. "No more than you." Jehan looks away. "If you could have anything in the world, what would you want?" There is a catch in his voice. Bossuet gazes at him gently for a moment, then reaches out and touches a finger to his lips. "I have everything I want." Jehan melts into his arms, murmuring his name again. "My Jehan," tenderly. "Are you happy?" "Yes," although there are tears on his cheeks again. "God, I love you so." "And I you," fervently. "Don't worry," softly. "Please." "I'll try not to." Jehan kisses his cheek. Bossuet smiles, and kisses him properly. Jehan relaxes into his arms with a small sigh. "You're so lovely," Bossuet breathes against his ear. Jehan shivers. "You're so good to me." "I try," mildly. "You succeed," taking hold of the back of his jacket. "Good," tangling a hand in his hair. "You're wonderful," breathlessly. Bossuet laughs. "So are you, petit. So are you."
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