1. "It's all poetry with you," Feuilly complains, one evening after Combeferre and Prouvaire are finally prised out of the cafe after hours of discussion on Lord Byron; "Nothing concrete."
Combeferre removes his spectacles and looks at Feuilly with astonishment. "You've always said you enjoyed me quoting to you at night."
"Paul," he says grimly, dragging Combeferre out of the line of sight of the cafe's waitresses, "At night I have your prick in my mouth."
Combeferre concedes with a kiss.
2. Like most wars -- says Combeferre -- it's bitter, and few of them survive. Afterwards Combeferre and Courfeyrac and poor, heartbroken Joly scatter to the Outer Rim to slip under the Alliance radar. Joly is the worst off -- both his lovers dead, and his hand seared clean off by some high-tech piece of hardware even Bahorel didn't know the make of, for the few hours longer that Bahorel lived to have an opinion.
Courfeyrac sweet-talks forged permanent residence papers out of some clerk on Rosalinde, and they settle down to lie low. But every time some barroom conversation turns to rebellion, none of them can help thinking of Enjolras and his bold talk, and the way they walked slow and steady for him into Serenity Valley.
3. "Tamade hundan," Mal snaps bitterly, thinking of the dumbass kid who winged him and hoping the said dumbass kid gets both balls stomped on by a horse and maybe sucked out the loading bay of a ship hitting atmo, too.
"Did I touch it, sir?" Zoe asks, in her usual deadpan-patient tone.
"No, go on, keep goin'."
She gives him that look that says she ain't buyin his shit, but her hands don't pause on him as she slides them over his hips, going around the graze on his left thigh nice and easy and slow until she reaches his dick. It's true sex ain't gonna happen until he's healed up more'n this, but -- as he's gonna think a lot more times in this lifetime -- he's got a first officer he can always count on to have a good idea.
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Date: 2011-08-09 05:02 am (UTC)Combeferre removes his spectacles and looks at Feuilly with astonishment. "You've always said you enjoyed me quoting to you at night."
"Paul," he says grimly, dragging Combeferre out of the line of sight of the cafe's waitresses, "At night I have your prick in my mouth."
Combeferre concedes with a kiss.
2. Like most wars -- says Combeferre -- it's bitter, and few of them survive. Afterwards Combeferre and Courfeyrac and poor, heartbroken Joly scatter to the Outer Rim to slip under the Alliance radar. Joly is the worst off -- both his lovers dead, and his hand seared clean off by some high-tech piece of hardware even Bahorel didn't know the make of, for the few hours longer that Bahorel lived to have an opinion.
Courfeyrac sweet-talks forged permanent residence papers out of some clerk on Rosalinde, and they settle down to lie low. But every time some barroom conversation turns to rebellion, none of them can help thinking of Enjolras and his bold talk, and the way they walked slow and steady for him into Serenity Valley.
3. "Tamade hundan," Mal snaps bitterly, thinking of the dumbass kid who winged him and hoping the said dumbass kid gets both balls stomped on by a horse and maybe sucked out the loading bay of a ship hitting atmo, too.
"Did I touch it, sir?" Zoe asks, in her usual deadpan-patient tone.
"No, go on, keep goin'."
She gives him that look that says she ain't buyin his shit, but her hands don't pause on him as she slides them over his hips, going around the graze on his left thigh nice and easy and slow until she reaches his dick. It's true sex ain't gonna happen until he's healed up more'n this, but -- as he's gonna think a lot more times in this lifetime -- he's got a first officer he can always count on to have a good idea.