Chapter Thirty Eight

Quite Sensible

Combeferre took her to a new cocktail bar that had opened a few weeks go, not too far from the Musain. It was a very sleek and modern build, the front made entirely of glass, and they ended up sat on the top floor right next to the large window, overlooking the street outside. The bar also served food, and they ended up sharing platters of potato skins stuffed with cheese, spring onions and bacon and nachos with more cheese and guacamole and salsa. Neither of them had never been a cocktail sort of person, but they tried a few of the cocktails and both developed a taste for Sex on the Beach.

They left the bar earlier than they'd originally intended, the vodka and schnapps having gone straight to their head. They got a taxi, Combeferre filing away that he'd have to come and pick his car up later, not having thought it through earlier in the day.

In the back of the taxi, they were chattering away and they found themselves holding hands. Maybe holding hands was too innocent a term, Combeferre thought in the back of his mind; what they were doing was somehow incredibly intimate, even if it just involved running their fingertips over each other's hands. There was a lull in the conversation, and he circled her wrist with his fingers, his thumb brushing over her pulse, and he raised her hand to his mouth. He pressed a kiss to the palm of her hand, and he could smell the perfume she'd obviously sprayed onto her wrist earlier that evening.

"I've had a really nice time tonight," she said, her eyes bright and wide, her voice breathy.

"Me too," he said.

"So," she said, as the car slowed to a stop outside her flat. "Do you want to come up?"

"Yes," he said, the word jumping out of his mouth before he could think about it. It was an honest answer – but was it sensible?

No, it probably wasn't, but he didn't find it in himself to care. Instead, he let go of her wrist to reach into his pocket for his wallet. He paid the taxi driver and then got out of the car, walking around the other side to open Éponine's door and help her get out. They almost forgot her crutches but remembered at last minute.

The stairs were harder to navigate with the amount of alcohol currently running through both of their systems, especially considering Éponine's ankle, but they managed it. Somehow. Combeferre wasn't sure that he'd ever felt this silly in his entire life, as the end of their hike to Éponine's room was Éponine crawling along the floor giggling whilst he followed, laughing hysterically and pawing at the walls when the giddiness got too much.

He took the key out of her hands to open her door, and she hobbled through. She flopped down onto the sofa, a heavy breath escaping her lungs. He shut the door behind himself, gently set the crutches so they were propped against the wall, and then walked over to drop the keys onto the coffee table.

When he straightened up, she wasn't looking at the ceiling anymore. She was looking at him. From how she was sprawled across the cushions, the dark red velvet dress she was wearing had been hiked up her thighs a little too far. He was stood near the foot of the sofa, and she rolled onto her stomach, cushioning her chin on her hands on the arm of the sofa and looking up at him through her dark lashes.

"Come here," she requested, voice soft.

He eased himself into the small gap between the coffee table and the sofa, and perched on the small space that Éponine's body left on the sofa. His hip was resting against her stomach, and he brushed a hand over her hair, his fingers combing through the dark strands and smoothing down the line of her back. She let out a small sigh.

"I've missed you," she said.

"I know," he replied. "I've missed you too."

She rolled onto her back again and sat up. Her arms looped around his neck, pulling his head down to meet hers, and she kissed him. He could taste the Sex on the Beach they had been downing all night, and her body was soft and warm against his.

He tore his mouth away from hers to press soft kisses down the length of her throat. He could smell her perfume again – it was new, it wasn't like the old one she used to wear, it was gentler and more floral in scent – and he'd forgotten how much he liked the quiet, breathy moan that she let out when he kissed her neck.

He curved one hand around the side of her neck, pushing her hair off her shoulder, and he inched closer. His tongue flicked out to slide over her skin. He felt her chin press into his head as she sighed again, her hands curling into his hair. He slid his hands down her neck and over her shoulders.

Then her crutches fell down with a loud, noisy clatter that had him lifting his head up too fast and knocking into her chin. She let out a muffled noise of pain, and then he sat up, cupping her face in his hands. They'd managed, without him realising, to more or less end up lying down on the sofa.

"Sorry," he said. "Sorry. Did I hurt you?"

"No, it's fine," she said, pressing one of her hands over his.

They stared at each other for a few moments, neither of them moving to kiss one another again. Then she leaned back a little further, patting his hand softly. He took the hint and dropped his hands away from her face. She sat up properly and scooted backwards, away from him.

"Sorry," she said, gesturing towards the crutches and then her face. "Kind of..."

"Spoiled the mood?" he suggested.

"Yeah, that." She grimaced. "I'm sorry. I didn't plan on..."

"Éponine, it's fine," he said. He leaned towards her again, and this time he pressed a kiss to her cheek. "Do you want me to stay, or should I go?"

"You can stay," she said. "Just – you know – no..."

"No sex?" he said. "Sure."

She smiled at him, and he smiled back, refusing to feel disappointed.

OOO

"So you're telling me," Courfeyrac said, in an uncharacteristically slow voice, "that you went on a date last night – with Éponine – and did not sleep together?"

"Yes, Courfeyrac, that is exactly what I'm saying," Combeferre sighed, wrapping his hands tightly around the mug of tea in his hands. He had been in about half an hour, having left Éponine's around midday so she could get on with making some new stock for her jewellery selection at her shop.

It hadn't taken very long for Courfeyrac to start prodding for information, flanked on either side by a thoroughly excited Jehan and an eager Bahorel, whilst a generally disinterested Enjolras sat on their armchair, flicking through a book.

Combeferre had ignored all of the questions as he brewed himself a cup of tea, but once he'd sat down and begun to drink it there was really no stopping Courfeyrac.

"But." Courfeyrac shared a confused glance with Jehan and then Bahorel. He even tried to share one with Enjolras, but their other friend was not willing to be taken in by these discussions, instead flicking to the next page in his book. Combeferre was grateful for Enjolras' silence and envious of how he was lost in reading, rather than facing this inquisition.

"It's really not that complicated," Combeferre sighed. "And even if we had, Courfeyrac, I would not be telling you any details."

"I don't want details," Courfeyrac said, flapping a hand. "I just wanted to know. So you haven't had sex with her?"

Combeferre drank deeply from his tea and didn't honour that with a reply.

"Well, it's probably sensible," Jehan said, running a hand through his hair.

Bahorel looked a little disappointed, grumbled something under his breath, and then turned back to the television.

"Sensible," Combeferre echoed. "That's what I think. I mean, it was just a date, to see how things went, and 'how things went' didn't involve sex."

"Once we realised that you two were sleeping together, though, it was fairly obvious that you couldn't keep your hands off one another," Courfeyrac said.

Combeferre considered, very briefly, informing him that they had almost had sex. Then he drank again, deciding that was not something Courfeyrac needed to be informed of right now.

"That's an irrelevant point," Enjolras spoke up, still staring at his book. "They're not sleeping together anymore."

"Thank you, Enjolras," Combeferre said, swallowing quickly. "Can we change the subject?"

Courfeyrac pouted. "Look, I get it," he said. "I just – wait, no, I don't get it."

"It's really not a confusing concept," Enjolras murmured, removing the ballpoint pen that was stuck behind his ear and scribbling something n the margin of his book.

"Aside from this," Jehan interrupted, as Courfeyrac spluttered a response, "How was your date?"

"Thank you, Jehan, for being normal," Combeferre said. "It was nice. The food at that place was great. We should all go there sometime. It wasn't too expensive –"

"I don't see why you two are bothering with this whole date thing," Courfeyrac interrupted. "It's clear you two want to be together, so why don't –"

"We are not having this discussion again," Combeferre said. "Yes, I like her. Yes, she likes me. Yes, we would like to be in a relationship with one another. But there is such a thing as taking things slowly."

"There's taking thing slowly and then there's being idiots," Courfeyrac declared. "Right now, you two are being idiots."

"Not necessarily," Jehan protested. "It's really quite sensible."

"Idiots," Courfeyrac repeated.

"Give it a rest, Courf," Enjolras said, his pen swooping across the page as he scrawled a loop around a paragraph.

"Yeah, give it a rest, Courf," Combeferre echoed childishly, taking another gulp of his tea.

"It's all cool, whatever you two decide is great," Bahorel said vaguely, clearly engrossed in the reality show that was taking place on the television screen.

"Thank you for that helpful insight, Bahorel," Combeferre said, raising his eyebrows. He received a thumbs up in return.

"No problem," Bahorel said.

"Like I said," Combeferre said. "We're trying not to rush into anything, that's all. But we'll be doing it again."

"What, having sex or going on a date?" Courfeyrac said, and received a smack across the back of his head courtesy of Jehan.

"Thank you, Jehan," Combeferre said. "And I meant going on another date."

Courfeyrac rubbed the spot that Jehan had just slapped and pouted. "You've changed," he hissed at Jehan. "You wanted to know just as much as I did."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Jehan said innocently.

Combeferre shook his head at the two of them.

OOO

"So, you didn't have sex?" Musichetta said, a note of disappointment in her voice as she watched Éponine pouring boiling water onto the prepared cups of tea.

"No," Éponine said.

"That's probably for the best," Cosette chimed up from the sofas.

"How is Éponine not having sex for the best?" Musichetta said, sounding scandalised.

"We nearly did," Éponine said. "But then – well, we didn't." She stirred the water, watching the teabags bob up and down.

"So you wanted to?" Musichetta prompted.

"Of course I did," Éponine said. "I'm not fussed we didn't, though. We – you know – we cuddled." She felt her cheeks heat up at the admission, as if the notion of them cuddling was more private than them having sex.

"Aww," Cosette cooed. "Oh, and I like these little cupcakes you've made – are they for earrings or necklaces?"

"Either," Éponine said, pouring milk into the tea and watching the liquid turn from amber to pale brown.

"So where are you going to go from here?" Musichetta said, handing Éponine a wad of paper towels to mop up some tea that had spilled over the edges of the cups.

"Well," Éponine said. "Probably another date."

"And sex?" Musichetta said.

"No," Éponine said, pushing one of the cups towards Musichetta. "We'll see, anyway."

"Well, regardless of whether you had sex or not, I'm happy for the two of you," Cosette said, hopping up off the sofa to come into the kitchen and collect her cup of tea. "You look a bit happier today," she added, squinting at Éponine.

Éponine glanced at Musichetta, who was nodding.

"That was why I thought you'd had sex," Musichetta said.

"What, because I'd been cured by Combeferre's magical penis or something?" Éponine snorted and picked up her own mug.

"Not exactly along those lines, but something like it," Musichetta said, grinning over the top of her tea. "Seriously, though, you do look happy..." She paused. "Not like that's a bad thing. It's a very good thing."

For a few moments, Musichetta and Cosette smiled at Éponine like a pair of indulgent parents who were watching their child throw paint around someone else's living room. She rolled her eyes, and sipped from her tea.

A/N: So there's really not long to go now, just 2 chapters. They should be a bit shorter than normal, like this one, so I should have this finished soon :)