"Oh would you look at that," Courfeyrac sidled up to Combeferre and lent against the wall in what he would assume to be a 'casual' manner, but was in fact anything but, "mistletoe."
"Oh how convenient," Combeferre drawled sarcastically, shutting his laptop to look sardonically at his friend, "However did that get there?"
"No idea," Courfeyrac fluttered his eyelashes innocently, "Better make use of it though, while it is here."
Courfeyrac had sworn on 1st December that, by New Years, he'd have kissed every single one of his friends under mistletoe. That was only two days ago, and he was already making light work of his vow. He'd caught Cosette off guard just an hour after he made his promise, and she complied with a hearty laugh and little embarrassment. He guerrilla attacked Joly not long after by placing a sprig of mistletoe in the doorway of the Musain, and now it seemed that it was Combeferre's turn.
The man in question gave a long-suffering sigh, "I don't want to kiss you, I have it on good authority that you have severe washing machine syndrome."
Courfeyrac sat down in visible shock, "Who told you that?" He asked in earnest, "Was it Joly? That little-"
"I can neither confirm nor deny," Combeferre said loftily, "And I'm definitely not kissing you."
"Don't be a spoil sport," his friend wheedled, "The only way I'll get Enjolras is if I can convince him that you did it willingly. And get him completely pissed."
"No way."
"Come on! Do it for science!"
"What could you possibly be trying to hypothesise?"
"You might have a change of heart on the whole straight thing," Courfeyrac shrugged, "It's been known to happen. I am very good."
"Not what Joly said…"
"I am honestly going to kill him!"
"If I do this," Combeferre said seriously, "Will you shut the fuck up and go annoy someone else?"
Courfeyrac jumped up, "Yes my Ferre lady, I will I will I will!"
"I was nearly considering it, but you've ruined it again. Stop calling me that!"
Courfeyrac got on his knees by Combeferre's chair and clasped his hands in front of him, pouting with his eyes wide, "Okay I'm sorry I'll never say it again I'm really sorry please Combeferre plea-"
Combeferre made an irritated noise at the back of his throat and grabbed Courfeyrac by the back of the neck, crushing their lips together. If he was going to do this, he decided quickly, he was going to do this properly - Courfeyrac wasn't the only one who was confident in his kissing skills. He slowed down straight away so his kisses were languid and soft, and loosened his grip on Courf, massaging small circles into the base of his neck with his thumb. Their respective tongues stayed in their respective heads, but when Combeferre caught Courfeyrac's bottom lip with his teeth and nipped ever so slightly, Courf lurched away so violently you'd think he'd been electrocuted.
"B-but… but… You wear corduroy. By choice!" he spluttered, visibly affronted.
Combeferre sat back and couldn't help but let a small smirk creep onto his face, "So?"
"Where the flying FUCK did you learn to kiss like that?!"
"Must have read it in a book somewhere," he shrugged nonchalantly.
"What goes on between you medicine students, is what I want to know," Courfeyrac was currently staring at him as if he had two heads, "Do you reckon it's too late to switch courses? I bet you lot get up to some really kinky shit."
"Oh sure you can switch, you're only in your third year, you won't have missed much."
Courfeyrac didn't answer that, and was instead uncommonly quiet as he studied Combeferre, his brow furrowed as he seemed to consider something seriously.
"What are you staring at me for?"
"Can we go again?" he asked, entirely seriously, "Like, for science?"