Ten Little Chances to be Free (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
tenlittlebullets) wrote2005-11-01 11:55 pm
tenlittlebullets) wrote2005-11-01 11:55 pm
Entry tags:
FIC!
A bit of musing before I actually post it: You know, I've written maybe four fics in the last three years, and this is the first one that didn't feel like pulling teeth when I was writing it. I think that means my writers block is gone? In any case, when you read this you should bear in mind that I have not written very much fic lately, I'm horribly out of practice, and to put it bluntly I'm not a very good author. And yes, I so totally used the song as a crutch for my lack of humor in this one. So, you have been warned and I am not responsible for any eyeball or brain injuries that may result from reading this. I always appreciate good, harsh, honest con crit, but for this fic it seems almost beside the point: the point was not to produce good fanfiction, or even fanfiction that could become good with a bit of tweaking, but just to produce fanfition of some sort or another. So yes, this is a total brainspew, and I'm glad it got to be the first plotbunny to be written because the next one will suck unless it's handled with some degree of delicacy.
(Translation: 1st fic plz b nice!!!11!1!)
Title: Absinthe Makes the Heart Grow Fonder
Fandom: Les Miserables
Pairing: Courfeyrac/Marius
Warnings: Slash, silliness, innuendo
Summary: Plotbunny #2: M. Pontmercy is entirely too innocent for his own good, and M.de Courfeyrac is not above a bit of molestation to get what he wants.
Notes: This was originally supposed to be about Marius, but Courfeyrac sort of took over. The song was written by Rave and the full lyrics may be found here; for the sake of suspension of disbelief, let's pretend that Courfeyrac studied in England for a year or two and picked up the song over there. Also, there is a rather short, rather smutty, rather angsty (!) companion fic to this, Excess, that will be posted FIRST, so that it appears further down on entries/friends view.
* * *
"Another man," said Courfeyrac to Grantaire over his sixth glass of wine, "might have a motto of 'Everything in moderation.' To him I stress the value of a small detail--a particle, an article, a tiny bit of punctuation--and I say, 'Everything, in moderation.' To say the former implies taking what already exists in one's life and cutting it down, tempering it; in short, moderating everything. Where, I ask, is the enjoyment in that? Taste all the pleasures the world has to offer! Enjoy them, hold them dear, only refrain from saturating yourself in them. An occasional bout of gluttony in an otherwise healthy diet never hurt anyone, but so also does an occasional fast help one appreciate one's food. I myself have thoroughly earned my reputation for promiscuity, but, if I may speak crudely for a moment, sex is always better after a month of complete chastity."
"So you think that two extremes even themselves out into moderation."
"I couldn't say if that's moderation, but balancing the two is certainly better than wallowing in one or the other. I mean absolutely no offense to you, my friend, but I do believe you've quite lost your appreciation for a good drink, drunk as you always are. Whereas I, of late, have been--well, if not sober--at least reasonable in my drinking, and so I appreciate tonight that much more."
"Ah, so at last we come to the real reason why you sat down with me tonight and helped me demolish--" Grantaire peered at the collection of bottles and glasses that crowded the table--"two bottles of wine, one of rum, and God knows how much absinthe. Set out to get thoroughly drunk, did we?"
"Quite, and I don't think I've yet succeeded." Courfeyrac finished off the wine and took another swig of rum.
"More absinthe, then. Say what you like for your 'reasonable' drinking, but I think it's only made you less able to hold your alcohol. Your speech is muddy already, you realize. And to think, I remember when you could drink me under the table."
"Oh, what do I care for how much alcohol I can hold! I may not be able to drink you under, but I doubt you truly appreciate the sensation of being gloriously drunk anymore, as it seems to be your default state."
Grantaire smiled and pushed the absinthe towards him. "Tell me that seriously in the morning, and I might even share my hangover cure with you."
* * *
Some two hours later, when Grantaire declared that Courfeyrac had had enough and dragged him forcibly away from the table, Courfeyrac was quite a bit further along but still didn't think he was properly drunk. He said as much, repeatedly, as Grantaire--who, despite having had more, was markedly steadier on his feet--escorted him home. But when he let his arm drop from Grantaire's shoulder his room swam pleasantly about him, and it was only when he felt his friend's hand grasp his upper arm that he realized it was because he had almost fallen over. "Oh dear," he mumbled with a vague grin at the wall, "that could've been unpleasant."
"Get to bed, lightweight," said Grantaire with an indulgent smirk, "before you do something you'll regret when you wake up."
"My dear Grand-R, once you leave I shall be alone in my room. What could possibly go wrong?" He spread his arms to emphasize, knocking a (thankfully unlit) candle from the table to the floor.
"Bed," he repeated, "before you hurt yourself."
Courfeyrac reluctantly allowed himself to be dumped onto a mattress (though he wasn't quite sure whether the mattress belonged to him or Marius) and grasped Grantaire's hand as he turned to go.
"Good night, Courfeyrac."
"G'night," he said, leaning forward for a goodbye kiss and not particularly caring that he missed Grantaire's cheek entirely and ended up kissing him on the lips instead. Grantaire just shook his head good-naturedly, shoved Courfeyrac down onto the pillow, and left, calling, "Go to sleep," over his shoulder.
Courfeyrac, for his part, had no intention of obeying. As soon as Grantaire's footsteps disappeared down the stairs, he sat up, took a moment to shake his head and get his bearings, and carefully stood up to walk--swaggering more than staggering--across the room.
He really rather liked his room, especially the little balcony overlooking the Rue de la Verrerie. To call it a balcony was perhaps misleading; in truth, it was little more than a ledge with a railing, but on a night like this he appreciated the opportunity to go out, take in several lungfuls of fresh air, and drape himself over the railing.
Life was grand, Courfeyrac decided. The night air retained a bit of spring chill, which cut the edge off his inebriation enough to clear his head a bit and keep him from falling off the railing, and the noise of the city was at this hour reduced to a pleasant sort of humming. A woman was singing, somewhere, singing along with the vague hum of the city. Courfeyrac decided that was a grand idea indeed, and joined in with a tune of his own, a tasteful ballad to beauty, chastity, and true love.
Pleased by the feel of the words as they dropped from his lips--even more so by the vibrations of his voice in his chest--Courfeyrac continued, a bit louder and a bit less in tune.
"Courfeyrac? Is that you?"
Startled into temporary silence, Courfeyrac peered into the street below, whence the sudden interruption had come, and saw... someone... standing below his balcony gazing up at him. "Giselle?" he called down, a trifle louder than necessary. "Darling, what are you doing here at this time of night?--so won't you let me up, up, up your fireplace?"
The whoever-it-was sighed in irritation, and he reflected that it was probably not Giselle, and that such being the case he was probably about to get slapped. "Darling, I'm sorry I couldn't recognize you--it's so dark, you see, that I can't, see, that is--here, will you forgive me if I serenade you?
"Courfeyrac, are you drunk?"
"A fine observation, my good madame--monsieur--er--who are you anyway?"
The sigh again, sounding like it came from someone who had far more experience in sighing wistfully than exasperatedly. "It's Marius. No, don't move, I'm coming up there before you pitch headfirst into the street."
"It would be him," Courfeyrac muttered under his breath. "Wonder where he's been?" And he resumed singing.
Marius had, in fact, just returned from the Rue Plumet, and his thoughts were as far from Courfeyrac and his lewd ballads as they could possibly be. He was therefore quite annoyed when Courfeyrac, upon noticing that Marius had arrived upstairs and was standing behind him, turned around, snaked his arms around his neck, and breathed into his ear, "I've got a broom that makes strong men weep--won't you let me up--"
"God, I can smell your breath from halfway across the room," Marius cut in, blushing, and frowning as his mind skidded back to the all-too-earthly concern of dealing with a drunken roommate. "Just how much did you have to drink, anyway?"
"Not enough, I think."
"Well, if that's 'not enough,' I pray that you never have enough."
"My dear man," whispered Courfeyrac, leaning more heavily on Marius and dropping his face into the crook of his shoulder, "I can never have enough." And his lips found and attached themselves to the small bit of exposed skin on his friend's neck above the collar of his coat.
Beet red, Marius pushed him away. "I don't know who you think I am," he spluttered, "one of your--your mistresses or--"
"On the contrary, I think you are Marius Pontmercy, my slightly-dimwitted and entirely-too-innocent roommate, who happens to be prettier than half the girls who have seen the inside of this room. Do correct me if I'm wrong."
Unable to blush any harder, Marius settled for turning away and saying sharply, "Go to bed."
"If you come with me, perhaps."
"You're impossible. And you're going to be very embarrassed in the morning."
"Well, you're embarrassed right now, so I think I have one up on you."
"At least I have an ounce of shame. My God."
"Well," said Courfeyrac with a leer, "a good drink and a good fuck could fix that easily."
Marius now looked scandalized as well as embarrassed. "Go to bed," he repeated. "Alone."
A look of cunning spread slowly across Courfeyrac's face; he himself thought it admirably concealed and regarded himself as a master of subtlety, but in point of fact only one as guileless as Marius could have missed it. "Very well, then," he said, feigning defeat and stumbling quite deliberately as he turned away from the balcony. "A bit of assistance for one too drunk to walk properly?"
Marius reluctantly allowed Courfeyrac to drape an arm around his shoulders. They were halfway across the room when another stumble, equally deliberate but far more violent, brought him crashing to the floor, Marius crashing down on top of him, and a chair that he had most definitely not meant to knock over crashing down on them both. He kicked the chair aside.
"I'm terribly sorry, mon ami," Courfeyrac said with a lopsided grin. "So clumsy. Allow me to make amends?" And without further preamble he tilted his head up and kissed Marius, silencing his protests with his tongue and his struggling with an embrace. Marius made a noise curiously like a squeak.
When Marius finally managed to wrench his head away, he looked thoroughly disgusted. "My God," he grimaced, at a loss for any other reaction, "you could knock out half of Paris with your breath alone."
"If that's your only complaint," said Courfeyrac, still holding Marius forcibly on top of him, "then I don't have to kiss just your lips, you know..."
"That's not what I meant!" Marius wailed, but not before Courfeyrac could catch one of his earlobes between his teeth. "I don't want you to kiss me at a--" The squeak again, followed by what could almost have been a whimper. "God! Stop it!" The hands that held him fast were beginning to wander where nobody's hands had ever been before. "Are you insane! What--what are you doing?"
"Ah, poor, innocent Marius." Courfeyrac was now speaking directly into Marius' ear, punctuating his sentences with flicks of his tongue and enjoying the resulting shudders. "Too virginal to even realize he's being seduced. No, M. Pontmercy, don't protest like that, I don't know and I don't particularly care whether you're actually a virgin or not. It doesn't matter. I knew a whore whose chief charm was that every time I took her she seemed as pure and innocent as a vestal virgin. No, what matters is that you act just like a blushing maiden on her wedding night. It's adorable, really, but it will only get you into trouble in the end. I can fix that, you realize, right here and now, and while you may not consider your innocence burdensome, I'm sure even you realize there are--rewards--in having done with it." He had already noted the effects of his ministrations thus far, but just to be sure the boy noticed them as well, he slipped a leg in between his thighs and pressed upwards, smirking when Marius squirmed and flushed.
"You're--you're mad," said Marius, "stark raving mad. We shouldn't..."
"Have I ever cared a whit about what I should do? What do you want to do, Marius Pontmercy?"
"We can't!"
"That wasn't the question."
He slackened his grip a bit and then let his arms fall to the floor. Marius stayed where he was, shaking, flushed, staring at Courfeyrac with a look of beautiful confusion on his face.
"What do you want?" Courfeyrac repeated.
"I... I... I want..." Marius bit his lip, then released it and took a deep breath. Slowly, as if he were in shock at himself, he leaned forward and pressed a timid kiss to Courfeyrac's lips.
Courfeyrac kissed him back, soundly, and smiled when they pulled apart. "That's what I thought."
(Translation: 1st fic plz b nice!!!11!1!)
Title: Absinthe Makes the Heart Grow Fonder
Fandom: Les Miserables
Pairing: Courfeyrac/Marius
Warnings: Slash, silliness, innuendo
Summary: Plotbunny #2: M. Pontmercy is entirely too innocent for his own good, and M.
Notes: This was originally supposed to be about Marius, but Courfeyrac sort of took over. The song was written by Rave and the full lyrics may be found here; for the sake of suspension of disbelief, let's pretend that Courfeyrac studied in England for a year or two and picked up the song over there. Also, there is a rather short, rather smutty, rather angsty (!) companion fic to this, Excess, that will be posted FIRST, so that it appears further down on entries/friends view.
* * *
"Another man," said Courfeyrac to Grantaire over his sixth glass of wine, "might have a motto of 'Everything in moderation.' To him I stress the value of a small detail--a particle, an article, a tiny bit of punctuation--and I say, 'Everything, in moderation.' To say the former implies taking what already exists in one's life and cutting it down, tempering it; in short, moderating everything. Where, I ask, is the enjoyment in that? Taste all the pleasures the world has to offer! Enjoy them, hold them dear, only refrain from saturating yourself in them. An occasional bout of gluttony in an otherwise healthy diet never hurt anyone, but so also does an occasional fast help one appreciate one's food. I myself have thoroughly earned my reputation for promiscuity, but, if I may speak crudely for a moment, sex is always better after a month of complete chastity."
"So you think that two extremes even themselves out into moderation."
"I couldn't say if that's moderation, but balancing the two is certainly better than wallowing in one or the other. I mean absolutely no offense to you, my friend, but I do believe you've quite lost your appreciation for a good drink, drunk as you always are. Whereas I, of late, have been--well, if not sober--at least reasonable in my drinking, and so I appreciate tonight that much more."
"Ah, so at last we come to the real reason why you sat down with me tonight and helped me demolish--" Grantaire peered at the collection of bottles and glasses that crowded the table--"two bottles of wine, one of rum, and God knows how much absinthe. Set out to get thoroughly drunk, did we?"
"Quite, and I don't think I've yet succeeded." Courfeyrac finished off the wine and took another swig of rum.
"More absinthe, then. Say what you like for your 'reasonable' drinking, but I think it's only made you less able to hold your alcohol. Your speech is muddy already, you realize. And to think, I remember when you could drink me under the table."
"Oh, what do I care for how much alcohol I can hold! I may not be able to drink you under, but I doubt you truly appreciate the sensation of being gloriously drunk anymore, as it seems to be your default state."
Grantaire smiled and pushed the absinthe towards him. "Tell me that seriously in the morning, and I might even share my hangover cure with you."
* * *
Some two hours later, when Grantaire declared that Courfeyrac had had enough and dragged him forcibly away from the table, Courfeyrac was quite a bit further along but still didn't think he was properly drunk. He said as much, repeatedly, as Grantaire--who, despite having had more, was markedly steadier on his feet--escorted him home. But when he let his arm drop from Grantaire's shoulder his room swam pleasantly about him, and it was only when he felt his friend's hand grasp his upper arm that he realized it was because he had almost fallen over. "Oh dear," he mumbled with a vague grin at the wall, "that could've been unpleasant."
"Get to bed, lightweight," said Grantaire with an indulgent smirk, "before you do something you'll regret when you wake up."
"My dear Grand-R, once you leave I shall be alone in my room. What could possibly go wrong?" He spread his arms to emphasize, knocking a (thankfully unlit) candle from the table to the floor.
"Bed," he repeated, "before you hurt yourself."
Courfeyrac reluctantly allowed himself to be dumped onto a mattress (though he wasn't quite sure whether the mattress belonged to him or Marius) and grasped Grantaire's hand as he turned to go.
"Good night, Courfeyrac."
"G'night," he said, leaning forward for a goodbye kiss and not particularly caring that he missed Grantaire's cheek entirely and ended up kissing him on the lips instead. Grantaire just shook his head good-naturedly, shoved Courfeyrac down onto the pillow, and left, calling, "Go to sleep," over his shoulder.
Courfeyrac, for his part, had no intention of obeying. As soon as Grantaire's footsteps disappeared down the stairs, he sat up, took a moment to shake his head and get his bearings, and carefully stood up to walk--swaggering more than staggering--across the room.
He really rather liked his room, especially the little balcony overlooking the Rue de la Verrerie. To call it a balcony was perhaps misleading; in truth, it was little more than a ledge with a railing, but on a night like this he appreciated the opportunity to go out, take in several lungfuls of fresh air, and drape himself over the railing.
Life was grand, Courfeyrac decided. The night air retained a bit of spring chill, which cut the edge off his inebriation enough to clear his head a bit and keep him from falling off the railing, and the noise of the city was at this hour reduced to a pleasant sort of humming. A woman was singing, somewhere, singing along with the vague hum of the city. Courfeyrac decided that was a grand idea indeed, and joined in with a tune of his own, a tasteful ballad to beauty, chastity, and true love.
"Ohhh," he sang, "the chimneys were dirty at Mrs McFry's
and I'll grant they were worse down at Molly O'Clue's,
but the chimneysweep said, with a gleam in his eye,
'I've got a great tool for cleaning... the flues!'"
Pleased by the feel of the words as they dropped from his lips--even more so by the vibrations of his voice in his chest--Courfeyrac continued, a bit louder and a bit less in tune.
"For I may be a tiny chimney sweep
with a tiny, grimy face
But I carry a broom that makes strong girls weep!
Won't you let me up, up, up your fireplace?
"I met a young lady in Lower-South-Waine
and asked why the roofs there were covered in grime:
'Is your chimneysweep ill?' --but she laughed and explained,
'He may not clean chimneys, but his service? Sublime!
"'For he may have been a tiny chimney sweep
with a tiny, grimy face
But he carried a broom that near made me weep!
So I let him up, up, up my fireplace!'
"A chimneysweep's job can be boring and dirty
A chimneysweep ain't drawn the best lot in life
But who else could manage, without getting flirty,
To clean out the smokestack on the mayor's young wife?
"For I may be a tiny chimney sweep
with a tiny, grimy face
But I carry a broom that makes strong girls weep--"
"Courfeyrac? Is that you?"
Startled into temporary silence, Courfeyrac peered into the street below, whence the sudden interruption had come, and saw... someone... standing below his balcony gazing up at him. "Giselle?" he called down, a trifle louder than necessary. "Darling, what are you doing here at this time of night?--so won't you let me up, up, up your fireplace?"
The whoever-it-was sighed in irritation, and he reflected that it was probably not Giselle, and that such being the case he was probably about to get slapped. "Darling, I'm sorry I couldn't recognize you--it's so dark, you see, that I can't, see, that is--here, will you forgive me if I serenade you?
"Our sweep tied the knot on a fair April day
The wedding, 'tis true, was the best of our lives
A child nearly drowned when they threw the bouquet
There were sixty-nine priests there, and seventy wives!"
"Courfeyrac, are you drunk?"
"A fine observation, my good madame--monsieur--er--who are you anyway?"
The sigh again, sounding like it came from someone who had far more experience in sighing wistfully than exasperatedly. "It's Marius. No, don't move, I'm coming up there before you pitch headfirst into the street."
"It would be him," Courfeyrac muttered under his breath. "Wonder where he's been?" And he resumed singing.
Marius had, in fact, just returned from the Rue Plumet, and his thoughts were as far from Courfeyrac and his lewd ballads as they could possibly be. He was therefore quite annoyed when Courfeyrac, upon noticing that Marius had arrived upstairs and was standing behind him, turned around, snaked his arms around his neck, and breathed into his ear, "I've got a broom that makes strong men weep--won't you let me up--"
"God, I can smell your breath from halfway across the room," Marius cut in, blushing, and frowning as his mind skidded back to the all-too-earthly concern of dealing with a drunken roommate. "Just how much did you have to drink, anyway?"
"Not enough, I think."
"Well, if that's 'not enough,' I pray that you never have enough."
"My dear man," whispered Courfeyrac, leaning more heavily on Marius and dropping his face into the crook of his shoulder, "I can never have enough." And his lips found and attached themselves to the small bit of exposed skin on his friend's neck above the collar of his coat.
Beet red, Marius pushed him away. "I don't know who you think I am," he spluttered, "one of your--your mistresses or--"
"On the contrary, I think you are Marius Pontmercy, my slightly-dimwitted and entirely-too-innocent roommate, who happens to be prettier than half the girls who have seen the inside of this room. Do correct me if I'm wrong."
Unable to blush any harder, Marius settled for turning away and saying sharply, "Go to bed."
"If you come with me, perhaps."
"You're impossible. And you're going to be very embarrassed in the morning."
"Well, you're embarrassed right now, so I think I have one up on you."
"At least I have an ounce of shame. My God."
"Well," said Courfeyrac with a leer, "a good drink and a good fuck could fix that easily."
Marius now looked scandalized as well as embarrassed. "Go to bed," he repeated. "Alone."
A look of cunning spread slowly across Courfeyrac's face; he himself thought it admirably concealed and regarded himself as a master of subtlety, but in point of fact only one as guileless as Marius could have missed it. "Very well, then," he said, feigning defeat and stumbling quite deliberately as he turned away from the balcony. "A bit of assistance for one too drunk to walk properly?"
Marius reluctantly allowed Courfeyrac to drape an arm around his shoulders. They were halfway across the room when another stumble, equally deliberate but far more violent, brought him crashing to the floor, Marius crashing down on top of him, and a chair that he had most definitely not meant to knock over crashing down on them both. He kicked the chair aside.
"I'm terribly sorry, mon ami," Courfeyrac said with a lopsided grin. "So clumsy. Allow me to make amends?" And without further preamble he tilted his head up and kissed Marius, silencing his protests with his tongue and his struggling with an embrace. Marius made a noise curiously like a squeak.
When Marius finally managed to wrench his head away, he looked thoroughly disgusted. "My God," he grimaced, at a loss for any other reaction, "you could knock out half of Paris with your breath alone."
"If that's your only complaint," said Courfeyrac, still holding Marius forcibly on top of him, "then I don't have to kiss just your lips, you know..."
"That's not what I meant!" Marius wailed, but not before Courfeyrac could catch one of his earlobes between his teeth. "I don't want you to kiss me at a--" The squeak again, followed by what could almost have been a whimper. "God! Stop it!" The hands that held him fast were beginning to wander where nobody's hands had ever been before. "Are you insane! What--what are you doing?"
"Ah, poor, innocent Marius." Courfeyrac was now speaking directly into Marius' ear, punctuating his sentences with flicks of his tongue and enjoying the resulting shudders. "Too virginal to even realize he's being seduced. No, M. Pontmercy, don't protest like that, I don't know and I don't particularly care whether you're actually a virgin or not. It doesn't matter. I knew a whore whose chief charm was that every time I took her she seemed as pure and innocent as a vestal virgin. No, what matters is that you act just like a blushing maiden on her wedding night. It's adorable, really, but it will only get you into trouble in the end. I can fix that, you realize, right here and now, and while you may not consider your innocence burdensome, I'm sure even you realize there are--rewards--in having done with it." He had already noted the effects of his ministrations thus far, but just to be sure the boy noticed them as well, he slipped a leg in between his thighs and pressed upwards, smirking when Marius squirmed and flushed.
"You're--you're mad," said Marius, "stark raving mad. We shouldn't..."
"Have I ever cared a whit about what I should do? What do you want to do, Marius Pontmercy?"
"We can't!"
"That wasn't the question."
He slackened his grip a bit and then let his arms fall to the floor. Marius stayed where he was, shaking, flushed, staring at Courfeyrac with a look of beautiful confusion on his face.
"What do you want?" Courfeyrac repeated.
"I... I... I want..." Marius bit his lip, then released it and took a deep breath. Slowly, as if he were in shock at himself, he leaned forward and pressed a timid kiss to Courfeyrac's lips.
Courfeyrac kissed him back, soundly, and smiled when they pulled apart. "That's what I thought."