"Courfeyrac, if you press even a finger into this estate, I will see that by to-morrow, you won't have anything to press."
"But monsters are there!" he cried out, imitating a girl's shrill tone.
"Do I look like I am laughing?"
"You never laugh in the first place, so I can hardly see why that should matter." Courfeyrac pouted, stopping short of the door way.
"I mean it."
He pouted, before sighing, and reluctantly, leaning against the doorframe. "Oh, fine. I'll just stay out here. You don't mind, do you chèrie?"
He sighed, the corner of his eyes still focused on Courfeyrac.
You know, Enjolras, if your eye can do that, you might want to get that checked out. I'm sure Combeferre would oblige to do it for you."
"He's, no doubt, pre-occupied with Joly."
"But the question is: doing what?"
"'Doing what'? Doing exactly as I said: giving the delusional boy his examination."
"Oh, dear." Courfeyrac leaned forward, his face warped into an expression of utter pity. "You honestly don't know?"
"Pity me, Courfeyrac: what are you rambling about?"
"Oh, come on now. You can't honestly expect Joly to be sick. The boy's in there for a "check-up."
He broke out into a guffaw, seeing Enjolras' blank expression.
**
"Do you love me?"
"Of course I do!" she pouted, drawing her bottom lip up to curl.
"Will you always love me?"
"Forever, and always." He sealed this promise with a kiss. She leaned down, pushing his chest with her tiny hands.
"Much more than that queer bird you always used to hang around."
"Marius?"
"Yes, that's it. What an odd character—he was always so formal. "
"I miss that lad." He sniffed, rubbing his nose upon her shoulder.
"Oh, forget about him. You have me now."
"My, my. Ma belle Euphrasie is frisky this fine summer night are we?" he grinned up at her, grasping her around the waist.
"Of course. Watching those two friends of yours practically grope each other incessantly will do that to a person."
"Enjolras and Combeferre?" he paused from nipping her neck, to add: "Hmm. I'd always imagined Combeferre to be more discreet—after all I did engage in intercourse with the man."
"M'sr de Courfeyrac, your cabriolet is waiting."
**
Marius awake, placing a palm on his forehead, shifting up as he oriented himself. "God Almighty, my dearest Cosette with that slime." He shuddered, reaching a palm out to touch her cheek. "Are you awake yet, dearest?"
"I am now." A gravely voice answered, lifting itself up, and groggily rubbing its eyes.
He screamed, accidently slipping off the bed as he crawled away in utter terror.
"What? Last night you were oh-so-eager. Pity. That was terribly pleasant."
"What are you talking about? Get out of here."
"You wouldn't have said that last night."
"I mean it, Grantaire!" he shrieked, wrapping the sheets around him.
"All right, all right. But preceding my bottom once more lying on the cold, filthy streets, may I be permitted to answer your first question?"
"Speak quickly."
"Ahh, the baron in a hurry. I see. Very well. After goody goody two shoes had a night-long groping session with God, they left, and Courfeyrac came in (after standing at that door hours, honestly, I admire that man's stamina), this pretty little thing hanging off his arm. Looked very proper—probably some bourgeois' daughter. I've warned him time and time again to not meddle in bourgeoisie affaires, but has the boy listened? No. At any rate, the girl's name was Colette, or some sparkly bourgeoisie garbage."
"What did she look like?"
"Oh, awful clothes. Even Enjolras dressed better than her---do you know, I've always thought Louison or Joly's girl, Musichetta?—should give him fashion lessons."
He rolled his eyes, ignoring Marius' pointed stare.
"All right. Stop glaring at me like that—it makes you appear more feminine than you already are—if that were possible. I think Prouvaire, who to his credit, was decently dressed in blue and white. Honestly, it's as if Joly and Courfeyrac helped him. Next they can do Enjolras, if that witch, Musichetta doesn't get to him first, and went: she looks awfully like your Ursula, Marius. God knows what he was talking about—the boy speaks in riddles constantly, it's as if his Mother drank sewer water when having him—I wouldn't doubt that. "
"What did Courfeyrac say?"
"Something like: "I picked her up in the Luxembourg gardens." To which Enjolras replied: One wonders when you manage to study, Courfeyrac. It developed into a free-for-all, Prouvaire' remark was the only disconcernable one: It'd truly be a shame for you to be sent back home, Courfeyrac. It quieted down, Louison hammering at the floor with her frustrated stomps, and then Enjolras muttered: Yes, truly. Combeferre whacked him on the arm, eliciting a scowl. Then, the girl pointed to you, giggling and whispering something in Courfeyrac's ear."
"Oh?" he replied, grinning as he looked up to you. 'Oh, Marius? Beloved? You know my sweetest friend?—Besides you, Enjolras. This fine mademoiselle to my left?' "Yes, he makes a habit of walking around our bench at the garden. Papa says he's a stalker, but I refuse to believe that. He seems so sweet.' "You are a queer bird, Marius Pontmercy. I'll give you that.' "Ursula?' "Oh, I love guessing games!' "No, no. Your name is Ursule Favre, is it not?' "Why, Ursule's a fabulous name! Unfortunately, I am not the bearer of that name. My name is Cosette Fauchelevent. I am so inexplicably delighted to meet you, Monsieur Marius!"' she cried, clasping her hands."
"Her real name is Euphrasie, were you aware of that, Marius?" He looked innocently into Marius' brown orbs, giving the boy his best puppy dog look.
"Stop teasing Marius, would you Aimery?"
"Here's comes the sole officer of the Fun Police: Combeferre."
"You only say that because you know my words ring true."
"By-the-by, you may have to explain to dear Enjolras here what a "check-up" means." He commented, risking a glance towards Enjolras, who was currently reading a book—probably the memoirs of Saint-Just, and tuning him out.
"Why, I gave him one last week! You needn't fret, Aimery. He's perfectly well."
"I'm simply worried for my dearest friend's health, that's all. It'd be a true shame for him to go insane before 20."
Combeferre looked at him, queerly, speaking slowly. "Aimery, his 21th birthday was two weeks ago—I distinctly remember seeing you harassing him."
"I did no more harm to him than you did to-day." He said, huffing as he crossed his arms, dropping Cosette's hand.
"I did no such thing!" his friend sputtered, blushing ferociously.
Courfeyrac laughed, patting Combeferre on the arm.
"Of course not. That's exactly why I heard him mumble: "Audric, take your hand off my leg this moment, damn you."
He laughed once more as Combeferre flushed.
"Then what?"
"Then, Courfeyrac took Cosette home, and you drunk on the drug of life, made an off to me to share your bed with the green fairy, and you. I obliged, seeing as my other options were taken."
"Oh, God." He groaned, resting his head in his hands.
"What? The sex wasn't good enough for you?" he scowled at the boy, breaking out into a grin as he threw his arms around him. "By-the-by, I have to ask: you said something about Courfeyrac being much better at this than I. Care to elaborate?"
He blushed, refusing to meet Grantaire's eyes. "That wasn't meant to happen . ."
"Obviously." Grantaire snorted, pulling on his ragged shirt.
"Where are you going?"
"To go to see if the lovebirds are up yet. Bug 'em a bit."
"Courfeyrac?"
"Probably not, but it's possible."
"What do you mean?"
"I'm not sure whether goody two shoes convinced the Goddess to allow Slut master in their bed, or not."
"Who are we talking about?"
"Combeferre and Enjolras, obviously."
"They sleep together?"
Grantaire ceased adjusting his clothes to glance at the boy, his glance of surprise and pity.
"When Courfeyrac said you were truly that oblivious, I wasn't terribly inclined to believe him. Despite the fact that you stalked a girl for a few years, not even asking her her name. I see my mistake now. Courfeyrac is always serious, whether he knows it or not."
"You know their address?"
"Courfeyrac does. No doubt the man knows the address of every girl in this city—and then some extraordinarily pretty boys."
"Enjolras?"
Grantaire grinned coyly at him. "Aww, do you have a crush, Marius?"
"No." He mumbled, as he fought down a blush.
**
"Hello, Monsieur Marius. Monsieur Courfeyrac here tells me you are a baron. Is that right?"
"I could assume so." He muttered, blushing as he fought to keep his gaze down. Better to not let the angel see your hideous face.
"Now, beloved. My friends refer to me by my first name—which is just how I regard you."
"Oh, but I'd feel just awful talking to you with such familiarity!"
"Let's go ask your Father then, shan't we?" he inquired, grasping her elbow tenderly, and turning her away. She grabbed his arm urgently, her brown eyes wide with fright. "I must warn you: Papa can have an awful temper."
"There's nothing I wouldn't face to see you smile." He grinned, leaning down to kiss her. Marius' blood boiled in his veins.
"Good-bye, Marius!"
"And good-bye, Monsieur le baron!" Cosette chimed in, giggling as Courfeyrac twirled her.