Let the Rain Come Down (3781 words) by Renee-chan
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Combeferre/Courfeyrac
Characters: Combeferre (Les Misérables), Courfeyrac (Les Misérables)
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Sexual Content, Slice of Life, Established Relationship, Married Couple, Lack of Communication, Cuddling & Snuggling, Rainy Day Snuggling, Courferre week, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000
August 24, 2013: Holy cow, what is this? Two non-FYFM related LM fic in one week? Goodness' sakes! ^_~ Anyway, a couple of days ago, I discovered that following Combeferre x Grantaire week on tumblr, some lovely people had put together a Combeferre x Courfeyrac Week, as well! I love these boys like mad and, though I multi-ship Les Amis like mad, if I can be said to have an OTP for this fandom... they're it. Anyway, Courferre Week is running until, well... tomorrow and I had initially intended to write a sequel to Best Kept Secrets for it... but then this little plot bunny walloped me out of nowhere and took off with my muse. *coughs* So... rainy day snuggling and couch sex, anyone? ^_^
Let the Rain Come Down
by Renee-chan (eirenical on tumblr)
The soft patter of rain on glass was hypnotic, a pervasive noise that snuck its way beneath Combeferre's defenses, causing his eyelids to droop and his breathing to slow and even out, encouraging him towards sleep. Two mugs sat untouched on the coffee table, one holding slowly cooling tea, the other once-hot hot chocolate dotted with spots of white where marshmallows had melted and then partially resolidified. The mugs hadn't moved in some time. Neither had their owners. Combeferre wasn't entirely unhappy with either circumstance. This particular brand of lazy peace was all the more cherished for its rarity.
A soft touch stirring the strands of Combeferre's hair in soothing circles was not helping his intermittent desire to fall asleep, either. The surface beneath his head lifting and falling in a deep sigh, however… Combeferre moved a finger to mark his place in the book he was now barely reading and shifted to look up at the person on whom he rested. "Courfeyrac? What is it?"
Courfeyrac shook his head, a small smile tilting the corners of his lips upwards as he continued his soft petting of Combeferre's hair. "Nothing. Go back to your book."
Far from deterred, Combeferre took note of his page and put his book completely aside, then got his elbow beneath him and pushed himself up just enough to catch Courfeyrac's gaze. "That was not a nothing sigh. What is it?"
Courfeyrac sighed again, this time with a hint of exasperation in the sound, and put his tablet facedown on the back of the couch. He leaned forwards to press a kiss to Combeferre's forehead. Quietly, he said, "Sometimes, Combeferre, your formidable powers of observation are incredibly inconvenient. We're having such a pleasant afternoon. Let it go."
Combeferre could do that. Certainly. He could lay back down against Courfeyrac's chest, pick up his book and resume his idle reading as though nothing were wrong. He could, perhaps, even put aside his book altogether and give in to the nap the weather was so insistently encouraging him to take. The trouble was, he could neither rest nor enjoy himself under the suspicion that Courfeyrac was any less than as perfectly happy as he was… and Courfeyrac was all too practiced at hiding when he was less than happy. Courfeyrac was always the first to put himself last - had been, ever since they were young. He never complained. He never protested. In fact, he never even hinted that he might want it any other way. He took care of all of them - passionate, protective, loving and a stalwart of strength… but who took care of him?
Combeferre took care of him, that was who. It was his right, his privilege, now, since they were married - nearly ten years, now. They had always been close, Combeferre, Courfeyrac and Enjolras - codependent, almost - with Combeferre and Courfeyrac supporting Enjolras through his every endeavor, laboring along with him to make his dreams and hopes for a better future into realities. They'd grown used to putting Enjolras first, forsaking their own desires and needs to his causes. It was easy for Combeferre, always so drawn to the intellectual, to subsume his own desires, but he had retained the ability to make his needs felt, nonetheless. It was more difficult for Courfeyrac, but he found his own sense of balance by channeling his passion into zeal and became a force to rival Enjolras in impassioned speech and persuasion.
That had been the turning point, really. It was easy to forget how much fire burned in Courfeyrac when he was drinking with Grantaire, or whispering naughty suggestions into Prouvaire's ear on cloud-watching expeditions, or throwing himself into planning rallies as if they were frat parties. And it was easy to forget that there was a core of steel that lay at his heart, forever prompting him to put himself between those he cared about and danger. But when Courfeyrac spoke to a crowd, revving them up to do as he wished… all his fripperies and gentilities fell away and he became a driving force as relentless as the pounding rain. And Combeferre could no more resist his call for passion than he could the patter of rain against the window calling him to relax. And, so, passion Combeferre had given him.
To this day, Combeferre was unsure which of them he'd surprised most with that first kiss - himself or Courfeyrac. It had been awkward, more enthusiasm than talent, as Combeferre had been so overcome by Courfeyrac's words, but the smile Courfeyrac gifted him with when they'd parted had made him feel as though he were more skilled than Mata Hari. Once past that first kiss, Combeferre had expected Courfeyrac to take the lead… and only then began to doubt. Combeferre expected to be swept up in a whirlwind of courting - bouquets of flowers which cost more than his best cut suit and were far less useful, overblown dinners at fancy restaurants filled with stilted, unnatural conversation, comedies of manners which included Courfeyrac holding open doors and pulling out chairs and playing the gallant lover… in short, all those things he'd observed Courfeyrac do with his conquests in the past.
Instead of flowers, though, Combeferre got books - rare editions he'd coveted since youth, historical manifestos Courfeyrac knew would catch his eye and fuel his mind, subscriptions to medical journals with blazing new discoveries in their pages. Instead of rich, sumptuous dinners and choreographed conversations, Courfeyrac invited him to his own home, cooked him simple, hearty fare that was somehow more delicious than any restaurant meal Combeferre had ever eaten. And instead of a comedy of manners designed to make him feel as some delicate maiden in an 18th century play, Courfeyrac treated him exactly as he had before - the same gentle touches and casual physical intimacy as they had always enjoyed… only now there were kisses, too.
It was a very long time before Combeferre understood that the cookie cutter way in which Courfeyrac had treated all his other lovers had been his way of indicating that he was serious about staying with exactly… none of them. It was even longer until Combeferre understood that the subtle, easy, perfectly tailored way in which Courfeyrac had courted him had been his way of indicating that he'd wanted this as badly as Combeferre… and for even longer. Why then, had Courfeyrac not pursued him before? Combeferre couldn't help but wonder. It was longest still until he understood that - Courfeyrac had loved him for years, had pined after him from afar and thought never to have him and so, having come to the conclusion that Combeferre did not desire him in return, he had made secret of his feelings, determined never to give Combeferre cause to feel uncomfortable around him. Selfless to a fault.
Once he had understood that, however, rather than deterring Combeferre, that very selflessness made him determined that Courfeyrac should feel comfortable needing things for himself from time to time. And it had taken all these longs years to get Courfeyrac even to the point that he would admit that there was something wrong… if not what the something actually was. Like now. And suddenly, Combeferre was positively loathe to let Courfeyrac get away with it when it was just they two. So, in spite of pleading eyes and now-pouting lips, at Combeferre's refusal to just "let it go," Combeferre turned onto his stomach and determinedly shifted until he was face to face with Courfeyrac, sprawled completely atop him.
Eyes widening, Courfeyrac swallowed hard at that, the minute shift of his eyes towards Combeferre's lips betraying the direction in which his thoughts had gone. Combeferre indulged him, leaning more fully against him and cupping his face with one hand. Courfeyrac's breathing quickened, his pupils dilated as Combeferre loomed closer, filling his vision. By the time their lips met, Courfeyrac was barely breathing. Combeferre took care of that by nipping sharply at his lower lip and prompting a gasp before taking advantage and deepening the kiss, plunging his tongue between eager, pliant lips.
They stayed that way for several minutes more, trading deep, lazy kisses, until Combeferre reached his hand out, questing. As Combeferre moved again, shifted to rest between Courfeyrac's thighs, Courfeyrac shuddered and finally broke their kiss to drag in a great, gulping breath. Combeferre chased after those lips, mouthing softly at Courfeyrac's neck and the line of his jaw on the way until Courfeyrac could take the teasing no more and bent his head to bring their lips together once more.
Combeferre had once been awkward and unskilled at such amorous endeavors… but he'd had an excellent teacher, was a very quick study and had had years after years of practice, now. He loved nothing more than how Courfeyrac would lose himself in their kisses and would, as he was doing, now, clutch Combeferre close and whimper with need as he rocked up against him. With Courfeyrac so pleasantly distracted, and his hand having found what it sought, Combeferre gently lifted Courfeyrac's tablet from the back of the couch and allowed his gaze to wander towards it, even as he continued to ply Courfeyrac's lips with deeper, more insistent kisses, swallowing those moans and soft whimpers as though they were a reward.
And when Combeferre finally saw what it was which had prompted the sighing, his heart clenched in his chest with an almost physical pain. He hastily dropped the tablet back onto the couch, now anchoring Courfeyrac to him with both hands as Courfeyrac wrapped insistent legs around his hips and rocked against him with more intent than before. Combeferre felt momentarily guilty for having distracted Courfeyrac with thoughts of sex to gain what he sought - making him feel like Mata Hari for an entirely different and far less comfortable reason than Courfeyrac's smile at their first kiss had done - but he couldn't deny that Courfeyrac was at least in a far less melancholy state than before. His original intentions might not have been the best, but the effect had been a positive one nonetheless and Combeferre would not refuse to see this through, now. Melancholy was not a look which suited Courfeyrac. Combeferre far preferred him this way - splayed out beneath him, eyes dilated with desire and love… and gasping Combeferre's name amidst a stream of endless praise, begging, and occasional profanity.
It was difficult to get them both unclothed with Courfeyrac wrapped so firmly around him, but somehow Combeferre managed it, Courfeyrac finally helping once he understood what Combeferre was about. He yelped when he fell back against the couch, however, having rediscovered Combeferre's book when the corner of it jabbed into the tender flesh of his right buttock. He pulled the offending book from beneath him and scowled at it before handing it to Combeferre to place on the coffee table beside their now stone cold drinks. Mishandling a book was never a choice, even in situations like this - Courfeyrac had learned from long exposure to Combeferre, even before they'd been dating, much less married.
The pause in their pursuit of passion was helpful, though, as it allowed Combeferre to reach for the drawer beneath the coffee table, as well, and grab something from within it. When he returned his attention to Courfeyrac, he froze yet again, this time entranced by the sight before him.
Courfeyrac, contrary to the belief of many of their friends, was not vain. This did not, however, mean that he did not understand how to display himself to perfect effect in any situation. (Combeferre was secretly of the opinion that Courfeyrac could have made himself seem desirable even dressed as a clown, if he was so minded. It was not a hypothesis Combeferre ever wanted to see tested, however.) Whilst Combeferre had been occupied with the coffee table, Courfeyrac had draped himself against the couch, head tossed back on cream-colored cushions, one hand ghosting over his chest and abdomen, lazily circling a nipple before going back to its travels, drifting down to stroke his inner thigh, temptingly close to his erect member but not touching - never touching - before returning, once again to its earlier path, his other hand fisted in his hair and his lip caught between his teeth as he whimpered.
Combeferre had intended to slow down, to be as gentle and lazy as the rain still pattering against the glass had been all day… but Courfeyrac knew what he was about. After all these years, he knew with surgical precision what buttons to push to drive Combeferre wild with need, to push him to levels of passion normally only displayed by Enjolras at a rally. Today was no exception. And when he saw Combeferre looking, cheeks flushed, lips parted, eyes wide and glazed, he delivered the coup de grace. Even as that roving hand finally stopped its roving, and dove unerringly towards the one spot it had avoided all that time in its teasing tracery, Courfeyrac's eyes opened fully and locked with Combeferre's, a blatant dare in their depths.
Combeferre had never been one to refuse a direct challenge like that. He surged forwards, caught Courfeyrac's hand before it could reach its destination, and forced it back up over Courfeyrac's head near its companion as he lunged forward to capture Courfeyrac's lips with his own. Courfeyrac's whimpering morphed into a keening whine that Combeferre well recognized. He didn't have much time.
With his free hand, Combeferre reached for the condom and lube he'd retrieved from the coffee table, hissed at the cold of the gel on his member, even through the protective layer of the condom, as he spread it over himself. Courfeyrac had moved the hand not held in Combeferre's down to his mouth, was biting hard at the knuckles, attempting to put himself off long enough to wait for Combeferre. The sight made Combeferre's heart clench, yet again, and firm with resolve that he would do whatever he could to make Courfeyrac happy - selflessness be damned.
Combeferre slid his hand up Courfeyrac's flank to his chest, circled a nipple with his fingers before leaning down and taking it in his mouth. Courfeyrac jerked beneath him, whimpers stuttering for a moment before slowly shifting back towards that keening whine. Combeferre wasted no more time, moved his hand back down to line himself up and pushed into Courfeyrac's waiting warmth. Courfeyrac tensed, momentarily, that keening cry choking off in his throat, but desire and long familiarity with his partner relaxed him more quickly than anything else could have. That keening whine picked up as though it had barely stopped and Courfeyrac reached for Combeferre, pulled him down for a set of deep, desperate kisses which only barely muffled the noises coming out of his mouth. He was fighting himself - Combeferre could feel it - fighting to hold off his own orgasm long enough for Combeferre to take what he needed first. This time, though, Combeferre was having none of it. He rolled his hips, pushing deep with each thrust, shifting his angle until he hit that spot that made Courfeyrac release his lips and cry out like he was breaking. Combeferre was relentless after that, pulling back just enough to slam into that spot again and again and again.
Courfeyrac tucked his face against Combeferre, keening into the flesh of his shoulder and shaking as though he was barely holding himself together. Two more thrusts and Courfeyrac came with a hoarse cry, coating their bellies with his release. Combeferre held him through it, softly petting his hair in a reverse of their actions from earlier, until Courfeyrac growled out, "Damn it, I'm not made of porcelain. Fuck me."
That deliberate and harsh profanity jolted through Combeferre like lightning and his body snapped to obey that command before his brain had even processed the words, thrusting into Courfeyrac as though he would drill him through the couch and onto the floor. Courfeyrac let out a satisfied, "Yesssssssss," and just held him tighter, riding it out until Combeferre stilled, finding his release in a blinding moment of pure need, buried in Courfeyrac's heat.
When next Combeferre could make sense of his surroundings, the world was a blur, the only things clear being the feel of Courfeyrac's fingers, returned to their gentle circles through Combeferre's hair, and the soft rise and fall of his chest beneath Combeferre's ear. After a moment of confused blinking, that chest moved more quickly for a moment and it took Combeferre far longer than it should have to connect that movement with the quiet laugh which came from above him. Courfeyrac's hand paused in its lazy circles and Combeferre made a soft noise of protest. Courfeyrac resumed his stroking, laughed again when Combeferre all but melted against him. "I was going to tell you that I'd put your glasses on the coffee table if you wanted them… but I'm beginning to think you don't."
Combeferre shook his head. He could barely remember his own name. Clear sight was the farthest thing from his mind at the moment. Courfeyrac huffed out another laugh, then fell silent. After another stretch of time when Combeferre knew absolutely nothing but the feel of those gentle fingers in his hair, Courfeyrac's chest rose and fell in a mirror of the deep sigh which had started this whole thing. This time, however, Combeferre waited determined to allow him time to speak on his own.
Courfeyrac's first words, when they came, were soft, almost hesitant. "Combeferre… not that I'm complaining, because holy fucking hell, I'm certainly not complaining. That was amazing. Fuck. That was beyond amazing. You are amazing. Have I told you lately how amazing you are?" He continued on in that vein for some time building speed and volume as he warmed to his subject. Combeferre's only contribution was the smile that curved his lips and which he turned to press into Courfeyrac's chest when his rambling praise became so exaggerated as to be ridiculous. Eventually, Courfeyrac came back around to, "…but if you think that even amidst that utterly mind-blowing sex, I had somehow missed you using those first kisses to sneak a peak at my tablet… my friend, you are sorely mistaken."
Combeferre's face did a slow burn, then, blood that he desperately needed in his brain draining downwards to fill his cheeks. He cleared his throat and said, simply, "I don't like to see you unhappy."
There was another soft chuckle as Courfeyrac resumed running his fingers through Combeferre's hair. "Whatever gave you the idea that I was unhappy?"
Combeferre frowned, pushed himself up just enough to meet Courfeyrac's gaze. "The fact that you wouldn't tell me, even if you were, if you felt it was something with which I could not assist." Courfeyrac's eyes grew serious for a moment before he turned them away, as sure a sign as Combeferre needed that he was right. He reached up, caught at the hand which had once again stilled in his hair and brought it to his lips to press soft, butterfly kisses against it. "I remember well how tight things were when we first married. I knew that you had always dreamed of a honeymoon in Paris and had been planning, even then, how we could make it happen even on our limited budget… but you never brought it up, never even asked the question. The honeymoon you arranged at the Cape was lovely and I enjoyed every moment of it, I knew it wasn't what you really wanted and I wasn't comfortable enough to ask why you didn't talk to me about it. Well… I know you better now, Courfeyrac, much better - I know why you did it. And I'd be a fool, indeed, if I didn't realize you were still harboring that dream of Paris."
Courfeyrac kept his eyes turned away through that entire speech, but Combeferre didn't need that window into his soul to know that he was right. Courfeyrac's body, tense and wary beneath his, was all but screaming at him that he'd hit directly upon the truth. He reached out, turned Courfeyrac's face towards his, and smiled down into those unhappy eyes. "I'd thought to keep this as a surprise, but it seems I must rethink that approach. Courfeyrac… how many years will we have been married, come this fall?"
Some of the darkness in Courfeyrac's eyes lifted at the teasing playfulness in Combeferre's voice. "Ten years…?" he answered, the lift in his voice less a need for verification of the time and more a question of where Combeferre was going with that line of query.
Solemnly nodding, Combeferre asked, "And did it never occur to you that I might plan something special for that particular anniversary?"
Courfeyrac's eyes widened and his breath caught, his hands clenching and unclenching where they rested on Combeferre's arms. Combeferre smirked as he leaned closer and spoke his next words right into Courfeyrac's ear. "From now on, I want you to tell me what you want. I want you to tell me even if you think it's a pipe dream, even if you think I can't help, even if you think it will never happen. And this time… I want you to ask the question."
Courfeyrac let out an almost pained sounding whimper at that and when Combeferre leaned back, he was unsurprised to see a sheen of tears in his eyes, quickly blinked away and banished to wherever unwanted tears go. Voice choked with emotion and eyes still shining with those unshed tears, Courfeyrac finally got out, "Combeferre… can we go to Paris for our second honeymoon?"
Combeferre leaned down and claimed Courfeyrac's lips in a gentle, thorough kiss before letting his lips curl in another smirk. "I booked our tickets and hotels months ago, but since you now know… I'll let you pick where we're going to renew our vows."
At those words, the banished tears in Courfeyrac's eyes returned with a vengeance and he buried his face in Combeferre's shoulder, chest alternately hitching with sobs and laughter. When he calmed, he beamed a smile up at Combeferre and said, "I dare any of our friends to claim you aren't a secret romantic, now."
After pressing a line of kisses in a line up the column of Courfeyrac's neck to claim his lips, Combeferre leaned back and winked. "I've had an excellent teacher, am a very quick study and have had years after years of practice."
Courfeyrac laughed, a joyous sound that lightened Combeferre's heart like nothing else ever had and nothing else ever would. Outside, the rain finally slowed, then stopped… ceding the remainder of the day to the risen sun.