Hey everybody! Sorry I'm not updating "Cheurs"(and have not updated for a while) but Agnes the Computer Smashing Cat smashed my computer, and I'm currently typing this on my dad's laptop while trying to get the hard drive(and all my stories, aghhh!) rescued from the mess of plastic and metal that was my laptop until several weeks ago. I will update "Cheurs" once it is rescued.
Disclaimer: Did Hugo have an evil cat named Agnes?
While You Sleep
He loved Jehan most while the poet was asleep, his head pillowed against Feuilly's shoulder. Jehan seemed so young, so sweet while he slept. A small smile filled his features when the poet drowsed off after they'd made love yet another time, his lips still swollen from insistent kisses, his eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks as he tried vainly to stay awake and talk to Feuilly for just a minute more.
Jehan would finally fall asleep, curling himself against Feuilly with a perfect grace, matching the contours of their bodies so that Feuilly could sleep the whole night covered with the soft silk of Jehan's skin. Feuilly would wrap his arms around Jehan and lie there in the dark, simply feeling the beat of Jehan's heart, the warmth of Jehan's breath upon his neck.
Jehan would sometimes stir restlessly in his sleep, mutter things dark and painful, grasp blindly at Feuilly, twist and fight both Feuilly and the sheets, shed tears of fear or anger or of nightmares. Feuilly would take the flailing Jehan into his arms, stroke the poet's hair, murmur words of comfort, love, and warmth, and kiss away the bad dreams before the poet awoke. Jehan would settle back against Feuilly peaceably, sometimes with a soft smile, sometimes with an unnatural frown; Feuilly loved him either way.
Jehan slept on his side sometimes, his face bathed angelically in the glimmers of moonlight that stole through the window. Feuilly would wake and see Jehan, angelically beautiful in the moonlight, and pull himself out of bed reluctantly, but necessarily, to find his sketchpad and capture the lovely likeliness of Jehan in the moonlight. He'd never shown these sketches to anyone, not even to Jehan. They were something magical, a part of Jehan revealed only when the poet slept on certain moonlit nights, a part of Jehan that belonged solely to Feuilly, and to Feuilly alone.
Jehan had sat up once, waking, while Feuilly sat at the window sketching him, and merely gazed wonderingly at him. Feuilly had hid the sketchpad before Jehan had noticed it, and rejoined the poet in the comfortable bed; breathing whispers of how beautiful, how lovely, how perfect Jehan looked in the moonlight. The poet had gone back to sleep with a smile on his lovely face, and his arms flung warmly about Feuilly, a sigh of satisfaction echoing in Feuilly's ears.
Jehan would murmur happy whisperings while he slept sometimes, things like "Martin, mon cher," or "Je t'aime, Martin", then sigh contentedly and curl comfortably against Feuilly. Feuilly would smile and kiss the poet's cheek, loving the way Jehan loved him, even in his sleep.
And that's that. Please review. I'll give you a cat if you do.