Notes: Written some time ago for the inimitable Manon, who expressed interest in the pairing.
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"Really." He looked down his nose at the dark-haired man—no mean feat, as he was lying flat on his back, but Théodule had turned disdain into an art form. "I refuse to believe your name is Montparnasse."
The petulant remark coaxed a smirk from its recipient. "I refuse to believe you expect an honest answer. Maybe you're used to milksop doxies who'll say whatever you want them to, but you've to learn not everyone gives a damn what you believe."
"My God, so there is a brain under the curls," Théodule muttered sarcastically, raking a hand through them and wrinkling his nose when it came away smeared with cheap pomade. "Shut up or I'll go back to my regiment."
"And what then? Play cards with your little soldier friends all night? How exciting. Or tell stories of your gallant exploits, maybe? I'm sure the commanding officer would be fascinated to hear what you've been doing on your nights off."
"Spending them with a man who styles himself after a street, you mean? He'd think me mad."
"At least you have discerning taste in your insanity," Montparnasse answered, ignoring Théodule's deprecating snort. "Not discerning enough that you don't mind looking like a walrus, but we all have our shortcomings."
"Bastard." He shifted slightly and nipped Montparnasse's lower lip, deliberately brushing his mustache across the latter's cheek in the process.
Pulling away, Montparnasse touched a finger to the spot and frowned down at the blood on his fingertip. Not flicking an eyelid, he almost casually flung a palm against the other man's face. "None of that," he said mildly.
Théodule sneered, hand reflexively flying to an invisible saber at his hip. "You dare—"
Looking exceptionally bored, Montparnasse lifted one inky eyebrow and proceeded to pull a pistol from inside his discarded jacket. "Really, don't be an idiot."
"Conceited bastard," Théodule repeated, warily moving his hand away as the young man laid the pistol aside.
The bored expression never faltered. "There's a good boy. If you're through with your histrionics, may we continue?"
"I think not." The lancer rose with an artful combination of detachment and spitefulness and began searching for his shirt "It's time I was going. Early call tomorrow, you know." He caught Montparnasse's scowl out of the corner of his eye and rewarded it with a bland smile. "So sorry to inconvenience you, but it is necessary, you know."
Not to be outdone, Montparnasse followed suit. "Not at all," he purred in the same tone of voice, producing a comb seemingly out of midair. "I've an appointment just inside an hour from now; it's time I began preparing for it."
"Then I'll see you shortly, perhaps," Théodule muttered, as if that particular subject were the last thing on his mind.
Montparnasse shrugged and made a show of knotting his tie. "If I've the time and don't choose to go elsewhere. There are all manner of things I may need to attend to."
"Of course." Surveying his sleeves to ascertain their cuffs were properly turned, Théodule nodded sanctimoniously. "And you'll understand, won't you, if I am detained?" Without waiting for a reply, he dropped a kiss on the other man's split lip, deliberately tangling one hand in the hair Montparnasse had meticulously combed. When he felt teeth close on his own lip, he swore and leaped back, mentally cursing his carelessness and glaring daggers from a safe distance at Montparnasse's smug smile.
"Don't do it again," the thief warned complacently, "or you'll be left with something far worse than that to explain to your friends." He bowed gracefully. "Until tomorrow, perhaps, if my schedule allows."
"And mine," growled Théodule. "Don't wait too long for me."
Each left with the full knowledge that the other would be there the following evening.