A/N: Just a little oneshot for the first half of Barricade Day - thanks to school, I could be up all night tomorrow trying to complete my other Barricade Day fic. But this one is done, so enjoy!
June 5th 1827
The cafe was quiet. Half of the occupants were missing, off doing various things. The absence of both the leader and deputy meant no work was getting done, the talk turning to trivial matters.
As the night wore on, the numbers dwindled even further. Joly and Bossuet went home to see 'Chetta. Bahorel and Grantaire went in search of some young women to occupy the rest of the evening. Feuilly stayed behind, working on some of his fans. He was enjoying the peace and quiet, without his increasingly more intoxicated friends.
The door swung open, revealing Courfeyrac. "I thought I'd find you here."
"Go away, Courfeyrac."
"Will Jehan not be joining us tonight?"
"He left for Nice this morning. He's visiting his uncle."
"Leaving you all on your own. Such a shame."
"We can't do this anymore. You agreed." It had become foolish after a while. It would be a lie to say Feuilly hadn't enjoyed their regular rendezvous. They had met regularly behind Combeferre's back - something Feuilly felt guilty about, but not guilty enough to stop.
Then Feuilly had found his muse, sweet, fifteen year old Jehan, whose family had just relocated to Paris. When discovering that Jehan was willing to have a male lover, Feuilly had ended the relationship with Courfeyrac. It had been difficult, and Courfeyrac was unwilling to let go. But he was equally unwilling to tell Combeferre the truth.
"And where is Combeferre tonight?"
"Enjolras is ill. We won't see Combeferre for days yet." The bitterness in Courfeyrac's voice was clear. After their former leader's arrest, he'd slid into the shadows, leaving his idealistic, somewhat naive seventeen year old cousin in his place. Courfeyrac, despite his own infidelity, couldn't bear the idea of Combeferre looking elsewhere, and feared he would be tempted by the beautiful teen.
"He's a medical student."
"He's a fool. Some of us have been working for the Amis since that boy was still nursing, and Combeferre follows him like he's a genius. One toss of those blonde curls, a look from those big blue eyes and he's caught up in a child's politics. But I am not here to talk to you about that boy, or about Combeferre. I've come to see you."
"I want no part of this. Jehan..."
"Will not be back in Paris until August at the earliest. By then, one night of infidelity will be forgotten. Besides, Jehan discovered his preferences before meeting you. What's to say he won't rekindle an old flame in his hometown? Anyone with sense would snap up your pretty little poet at first glance."
"Go home, Courfeyrac." As the dandy edged closer, Feuilly could smell the alcohol. Of course. Right now, Courfeyrac was not charming or appealing. He was a lonely drunk trying to satisfy his vanity and arrogance. He was pitiful. But...
But his bed would be painfully empty without Jehan beside him for the next couple of months. And everyone knew Combeferre would jump into bed with their fiery leader given half a chance. Would it really hurt? Jehan, as a poet, would surely understand his passion. And Courfeyrac did stupid things when he was drunk and alone. Sacrificing his commitment to Jehan could keep Courfeyrac away from prison or arrest.
Courfeyrac leant in for a kiss, and Feuilly didn't resist. The wine tasted bitter on Courfeyrac's lips, but his tenderness compensated for the taste. Betrayal and loyalty were far from Feuilly's mind, every sense fixed on Courfeyrac. The feel of rich cloth beneath his fingers, the scent of his cologne, the sound of Courfeyrac's murmurs of satisfaction, the sight of his amber eyes, the taste of him. Nothing in the world existed but him.
"Back to my place?" Feuilly agreed breathlessly. He was not so cruel that he would have sex on the bed he and Jehan shared. He and Courfeyrac stumbled through the dark streets in a haze, almost overwhelmed by need for each other. Feuilly hated himself for this. He knew it was wrong, and the ultimate betrayal to his sweet young poet, but he could not resist. He was a helpless moth, drawn to Courfeyrac's fire.
They stumbled into a bedroom, tearing clothes off one another, before falling into bed. When they'd finished, they lay alongside one another. Feuilly felt his face burn with shame. Jehan hadn't even been gone a day, and Feuilly had turned away. And Combeferre had only been looking after Enjolras since that morning. Courfeyrac saw such impatience as a virtue; Feuilly recognised it as weakness.
"I'm going home, Courfeyrac."
"Sam..." Feuilly flinched. They had always addressed one another by surname, an old custom among the Amis. It had helped to keep Feuilly's relationship formal, separate from the sweet, tender relationship he had with Jehan. Courfeyrac seemed to realise he'd touched a nerve.
"Please stay the night."
"Go to Combeferre's."
"Yes, because that's what I want tonight. To watch my lover fawn over a teenaged bourgeois brat."
"You love Combeferre. Otherwise you wouldn't be so jealous of Enjolras."
"I love you. Please, Sam..."
"I gave you your chance. I told you that there'd be no more sneaking around. If you wanted me, you had to leave him."
"I'll do it." The sincerity in Courfeyrac's voice startled Feuilly.
"Don't be a fool."
"I'm not. You don't know how hard it's been, watching you fawning over your little boy."
Feuilly gave a mirthless laugh. "What is it with you? Everyone under the age of twenty, you automatically see as a threat. First Enjolras, now Jehan."
"This isn't funny. I mean it. I'll leave Combeferre if you leave him. He's young, he'll get over you."
Feuilly was tormented. He couldn't deny he felt something for Courfeyrac, but he'd never been able to decipher what. And Jehan, sweet Jehan... was it possible that their relationship was a passing fling, an artist's infatuation?
"I love you, Sam, I mean it. Please. Combeferre could live without me, your little poet could survive, but can we without each other?"
"You promised you'd leave him last time."
"Come on. We're going to Combeferre's, now."
"Courfeyrac, don't. This is stupid, you're drunk."
"I'm still serious."
"Gabriel!" An attempt to pacify him by using his first name just stirred Courfeyrac further.
They headed to Combeferre's apartment, Feuilly trying to calm Courfeyrac. They burst into the apartment, Feuilly shushing Courfeyrac. "He'll be asleep!" he hissed, Courfeyrac pushing into the bedroom.
Combeferre was sat at the bedside, Enjolras sleeping in his bed. The medical student was holding the sick boy's hand, pushing blonde curls away from his fevered forehead. "Gabriel, this is a bad time," Feuilly hissed.
"It's the perfect time," Courfeyrac murmured in response, too quietly for his lover to hear. "Yes, I'm jealous because it's obvious Combeferre adores him. Sam, maybe you don't want me, but at least let me free him."
He stepped forward, Combeferre casting him a tired glance. "Gabriel?"
"Combeferre, I have to talk to you." The formality caught Combeferre's attention, and he followed Courfeyrac into the front room. Feuilly waited behind, not wanting to interfere. Combeferre returned a few minutes later, his face unreadable.
"Combeferre, I..."
"I respect your decision to tell me the truth. But I think it's best if you leave."
"Combeferre..."
"I have a patient. Please leave."
Courfeyrac was in the sitting room, looking stricken. Affair or not, Combeferre was dear to him. "What else would it take to prove I love you?"
"You want me to break a fifteen year old's heart?"
"Either you break your poet's heart, or break mine."
Courfeyrac's actions had been more mature than Feuilly had ever seen. And, Gods, he loved him. But that wasn't the answer to every problem. "You cheated on Combeferre. What's to say you won't treat me the same way?"
"Because I will never find another you to have an affair with. Sam, I love you. I left Julien for you. Maybe I've had too much to drink, but I need you. That won't change come morning."
What else could Feuilly say? "First thing in the morning, I'll write to Jehan. But if you betray me, make me regret this, I will never forgive you."
Courfeyrac leaned in for a kiss. "I swear, I will love you until the end of my days."
Combeferre forgave them both in the end. He recognised that he and Courfeyrac weren't meant to be. He worked on guiding their leader, though his love was unrequited. Jehan had two months alone to come to terms with Feuilly's letter. Though there had undoubtedly been screaming and swearing, he had, as Courfeyrac predicted, revived a relationship with a childhood sweetheart.
Five years passed, Courfeyrac keeping his vows of fidelity. On the fifth anniversary of them leaving behind their lies and deceit, they were huddled in the shadow of a barricade, curled together as a barrier against the cold and the rain. Enjolras didn't berate them, to caught up in every task that needed to be done. The fighting was at a lull - the absence of his two lieutenants did not faze him. Combeferre caught hold of him.
"Calme, mon amour," he murmured, just within Courfeyrac's earshot, before kissing the young man.
"Now is not the place or time," he snapped, before continuing more softly. "Tomorrow, when we're safe."
Feuilly watched them, and thought of Jehan, who had the fickle affections of a poet, quickly moving on. Nevertheless, he had an endless stream of prospective suitors. He would have been unhappy to be tied down.
"Gabriel?"
"Mm?" He hugged Feuilly close, running a hand through his damp hair.
"What we did to Combeferre and Jehan was wrong..."
"I know, mon adore, I know. But that was years ago."
"I wasn't finished. What we did was wrong, but they're happy now. Maybe we helped with that."
"And the ends justify the means, non? I think you can forgive yourself after five years. Besides, everyone gets a happy ending."
A/N: So, you can take the last line as cruel dramatic irony or a non-canon ending. The choice is yours. Another Barricade Day piece tomorrow or possibly in the early hours of the seventh - possibly later; I don't get time zones. Anyway, I'm rambling. Au revoir!