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Initiation: February, 1827
Light shines in through a window, the silver-grey emotionless sheen of the moon rather than glad sunbeams. The window is high in the wall, enough for privacy, or it would be curtained. There are three men in the room. Two are in bed, naked, and making love. One is concentrating; his face, in a stray flash of moonlight, is a beautiful, silent mask. His companion is debauched by contrast, his hair a riot of curls strewn across the pillow, his lips a little swollen -- though surely his somber lover would not have kissed him as roughly as that. He gasps and pleads with the solemn one, swears repeated oaths and invokes a variety of deities. Most frequently, he calls his lover's name, "Julien, Julien," breathlessly. When his eyes focus well enough for him to see, he returns Julien's gaze. They are thinking only of each other, and seem to have forgotten that there is a third man in the room. He is taking advantage of this to observe them carefully, almost dispassionately, to all appearances. He is soberly dressed by comparison to his sweating colleagues; though he wears no jacket, his waistcoat is buttoned to the neck. Something about his manner suggests detachment, as though he were reading an erotic novel, not observing two of his friends cavorting. If, that is, anyone with as serene a demeanor as Julien, with the frown lines between his eyebrows and (the watcher notes with a certain fondness) a small, oddly-shaped mole on his left buttock -- if such a one could be said to cavort, which is doubtful. His companion is cavorting for all he is worth. The one watching seems as incongruously relaxed and absent as Julien. His pants may not be completely comfortable at the moment, but he does nothing about that. When the men in bed finish, the first with a strangled "Je t'aime," Julien a little afterward with no more than a gasp, they lie entangled for a few moments. Eventually Julien suggests that they should make room for the other -- Audric -- and reaches over the side of the bed in search of a handkerchief. Audric chuckles at this and strides over to press the clean, lace-edged hanky from his waistcoat pocket into his hand. Julien murmurs his thanks and makes use of it to marginally sanitize his person. Audric watches this rather forlorn process with a wistful smile, then turns away and begins undressing. The man who was vocal in his passion -- Aimery -- seems to have expended most of his energy. He dozes until Audric gets into bed, as naked as the other two. Audric's earlier apparent interest seems to have waned. He smiles at Aimery for a moment, and kisses him for the space of two breaths. "Goodnight, then," Aimery says with a wink at Audric. Audric pats his shoulder. "Goodnight." He sits up and leans over to kiss Julien; the kiss they share is no longer than the other. "Goodnight," they say to each other, quietly, before Audric settles back and embraces Aimery. There is no passion apparent in this gesture, or if there is, none of them show a sign of noticing it. Julien and Aimery fall asleep within a few minutes.
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