As the evening wears on and the conversation wanders further afield, Courfeyrac leans against Bahorel's shoulder. "Do you know," he murmurs, "I'm rather abominably fond of you?"

Bahorel puts his arm around Courfeyrac's waist. "That's an interesting coincidence. I happen to be quite enamored of you, as well."

"Are you? That's good." Aimery has not seemed particularly tense all day, but now, with a sigh, he relaxes noticeably.

Christophe murmurs in his ear, "Perhaps we can take a bit of a walk."

Aimery grins quietly. "Thought you'd never ask."

Christophe stands and offers Aimery a hand up. "You could have asked," he says, mildly for Christophe.

"I was about to, if it didn't occur to you." Aimery climbs to his feet.

"I see." Christophe grins and puts his arm around Aimery's shoulders.

"I thought you would." Aimery lets his hand linger in the vicinity of Christophe's waistband a moment, before shifting it somewhere more decent. "I don't think there's anyone around the corner."

"No? And how likely is there to be anyone around the corner in the next half-hour or so?"

Aimery shrugs. "Not very?"

"Fair enough." Christophe ruffles Aimery's hair. "As long as you don't mind terribly if we're, ah, surprised."

Aimery ducks. "It's a day for taking chances. I'll risk it."

"All right." As soon as they are around the corner, Christophe kisses Aimery thoroughly and with great conviction.

With a slight involuntary gasp, Aimery leans into the kiss, knotting a hand in the back of Christophe's clothing.

They find the wall a few moments later. Christophe breaks the kiss to grin at him in the moonlight. "By the way, Aimé? You're wonderful."

"So are you," rejoins Aimery, a little out of breath. "In case you hadn't noticed."

"Thank you," Christophe says, and though his tone is solemn, he is grinning. "Are you sure you don't want to take a longer walk?"

Aimery pushes a hand through his hair, smiling back at him. "If you like."

"I wouldn't want to distress our friends." Christophe backs up a step or two.

"Of course not." Aimery straightens. "After you."

Christophe puts an arm around his waist. "Let's go together. Égalité, after all."

Aimery laughs. "All right, all right."

The people who live in these streets have all gone to bed early, if they are not out with the republicans. It is not difficult for Christophe and Aimery to find a dark corner between houses, where the random passerby, even if there were any on this night, would not see them. Once they are thus concealed from all but the most dedicated or curious of prying eyes, Christophe takes the opportunity to kiss Aimery at great length.

Aimery returns the kiss with equal dedication. He reaches up to tangle a hand in his hair, about halfway through; the other has already found its way down the back of Christophe's pants.

"God, Aimé," Christophe says appreciatively. "You have been waiting for this."

"Rather," Aimery agrees. "Frivolous of me, I know."

"Better than waiting for the Guard to show up, I'd say." Christophe unbuttons Aimery's trousers with practiced fingers. "And did you come prepared?"

Aimery sighs, running his fingers through Christophe's hair. "When did I have the time? I had Julien and Audric in my room at nine this morning."

Christophe chuckles, deliberately misunderstanding. "Then wherever are you finding this energy? -- I suppose," with a rather theatrical sigh, "we'll have to make do."

Aimery pokes him in the ribs. "Get your mind out of the gutter. --Yes, it looks like it." He frees a hand to loosen Christophe's clothing, in turn.

"Whyever would I want to do that at this late hour? Back up a step or two, would you?"

"For a change of pace?" Aimery complies.

"Bah." Christophe nuzzles his shoulder. "It's time to stick with what I know."

Aimery slides a hand under his shirt. "I suppose so, at that," huskily.

Christophe gives him a lazy smile, the effect of which is mainly lost in the darkness. "What's your pleasure, mon frère?"

Aimery sighs, pulling him close for another kiss. "Just you."

He receives the benefit of a kiss and an enthusiastic bearhug. "Love you," Christophe says, or perhaps growls, in his ear.

"And I love you, mon frère, mon amour." Aimery's voice is soft, though whether from emotion or lack of breath is open to debate.

Christophe sighs a little and lets him go. He brushes off Aimery's shirt, more as an excuse to continue the motion and slide a hand into his pants than anything else. "This will be quite the revolution."

Aimery catches his breath, knotting a hand reflexively in Christophe's sleeve. "With any luck at all."

"Mm." Christophe kisses him again.

"God, Chris," after an interval.

"What?" amused.

"Want you," in a most agonized tone, and then with a wry overtone, "damn your smug eyes."

Christophe kisses his cheek and laughs softly. "I'm right here, Aimé."

"Insufferable bastard." Aimery goes back to undoing Christophe's pants for him.

"What did you want, then?" as though they are ordering dinner in a restaurant.

Which only gets him pinched in a rather sensitive spot. "Not to be bloody well tormented. Not tonight, not here." Suddenly serious, if breathless. "No games, here."

"All right." Christophe tangles his free hand in Aimery's hair and kisses him in earnest, and though he begins speaking afterward, he stops delaying. "Forgive me, Aimery," deliberately using his full name. "Dear brother," more softly, "you have every virtue I have ever admired, and you are far too skilled in every vice I have ever enjoyed."

"Chris-- you can't-- oh. Oh God." Aimery buries his face in Christophe's shoulder a moment. "Can't say things like that-- when I can't think. Not fair." And, a few moments later, something that might best be transcribed as a belated "!"

Christophe kisses him gently. "If I compliment you when you can think, you'll insist on returning them. What's the fun in that?"

There is a minute's pause. "Why not?"

"You deserve many more compliments than I do, chéri."

"Bah." Aimery tugs him closer. "The hell I do." Another kiss. "You terrible, splendid man."

Christophe grins at him. "See. This is why I compliment you when you're incapacitated."

Aimery shifts a hand strategically. "Why's that?"

"Ah. It takes the fight out of you."

"Really." His fingers explore a little further. "That's helpful to know."

"Aimé --" Christophe's voice has become even more gruff than normal.

Aimery smiles in the darkness. "Come here, cher, or you're going to end up falling on me and then where will I be?"

He feels for the wall and moves the requisite steps so that he can lean on it. "I've never fallen on you unless you deserved it."

Laughter. "I'd dispute that." And, softer, caressing him now in earnest, "I don't deserve half of what you do to me."

"I'd dispute that," echoing him with a catch of the breath.

"What you do for me." Aimery kisses him lightly. "Do you know how good it is to know you, your strength, your warmth, your shamelessness, your damnable self-satisfaction, you maddening, splendid man?"

"Revenge is sweet," Christophe says, amused and hoarse. "-- God, Aimé. Kiss me. Please."

Aimery obliges, bracing his free hand against the wall.

A very long kiss later, Christophe leans on the wall and laughs. "You're wonderful."

Aimery grins at him. "I do try."

"And you succeed. But we should be getting back before we're missed."

"Yes, probably." Aimery lets him go, reluctantly, and starts to set his clothes to rights.

"Je t'aime," Christophe adds in the tone of an afterthought, as though he has not said it before.

Aimery smiles. "Je t'aime, mon frère. With all my heart."

Christophe hugs him again and mumbles something into his shoulder.

Aimery leans against him for a moment. "What's that?"

"Thank you. For -- everything, really."

"Don't mention it." Aimery thumps his shoulder affectionately. "Shall we go?"

Christophe squeezes him for a moment. "All right."

Aimery kisses his cheek. "All right, then."

[ before | after ]