Scene 2: 1804. Andrei's study. Paris, France.

"What does it all matter, anyway?" Andrei said suddenly, twirling his wine glass in pale fingers. "What does it matter about society, about what they think? They're so fickle," he sneered, "Opinion changes every damned month."

Pierre was taken aback by the sudden shift in his friend's mood. They'd been discussing the rumoured flirtations and indiscretions of a notable society lady, one who was supposedly happily married. Andrei had seemed his usual disdainful self – not angry. He didn't know what to say, but Andrei wasn't waiting for an answer; he got up and began to pace the room.

"You're nothing here, unless you're someone in society," he said, putting down his wine and gesticulating with both hands. "And God knows Petersburg is worse – you're lucky not to know it, Pierre – there's no one there with any heart, with any thought beyond themselves and their own advancement in life. I can't stand the place," he added in a tone of evident frustration, "but I have no choice but to return."

Pierre barely caught the last words, they were spoken so quietly, and rose to his feet to question his friend. But before he had the chance to speak, Andrei was looking at him with burning eyes, and he froze under that stern gaze.

"Tell me, Pierre, what other path is there? I have to return, but I dread it – and Paris is not even much better." He stared blankly ahead, through and past Pierre. "What is the point in all this?" he asked quietly. "That's what I can't figure out – and I… It seems I have no choice."

"Andrei," Pierre protested, "What are you saying? Of course you have a choice, there are people other than society followers to acquaint yourself with – why, I could name a dozen perfectly good respectable men, who're nothing like you say – "

His attempt at calming the prince down wasn't working. Andrei turned to him, expression dark, his accent more obvious in his hasty French. "Of course you'd say that," he spat, pacing towards him, "You're so blind, sometimes, Pierre, can't see anything for wanting to see the best in people," he continued, his voice rising steadily. Pierre stepped back apprehensively. Andrei carried on, almost shouting now. "People aren't how you want them to be! You can't make the world how you want it, and you can't change something as fundamental – as – this!" He fell silent.

Pierre looked down at him, pressed against the wall; the older man had pinned his wrists to it with a firm grasp. Andrei looked back, the anger fading from his face. He took a step back, releasing Pierre's wrists and dropping his gaze. Muttering something to himself, he crossed back to the couch and sat down, shoulders hunched, his expression hidden.

Pierre began to breathe normally again. He watched the dark haired man, and after a few seconds moved towards him. "Andrei?" he asked, reaching to touch his shoulder as he sat down beside him.

The prince looked up. His expression was like none Pierre had seen him wear before, a mixture of grief, and confusion, and something that was almost fear. Pierre felt a slim hand cup his jaw. He looked at Andrei in bewilderment, but his friend's face was suddenly inscrutable. Pierre watched him – and then Andrei leaned in and kissed him on the lips.

Pierre froze, transfixed by the sensation of unexpectedly soft, warm lips on his. Andrei sat back and opened his eyes. "May I?" he asked, with an odd note of shyness in his voice. All Pierre could do was nod.

He closed his eyes as the prince kissed him again. Andrei's hand slid round to the back of his head, the other settling on his waist. Pierre's body seemed no longer under his control. He – or whoever else was controlling his body – followed Andrei's lead, opening his mouth at the gentle probing of Andrei's tongue. His large hands felt awkward held in his lap; he placed them either side of Andrei's narrow waist. The prince responded with a sigh, shifting closer to him on the couch.

His kiss became fiercer, their tongues entwined, his fingers twisting and tugging gently at Pierre's hair.

In the clearer regions of the young man's mind, an idle thought formed – what did Andrei's hair feel like? He reached up a hand, dreamlike, without realising what he was doing. So soft… He almost gasped in surprise. He was learning a lot about Andrei today that he'd never expected to find out, he reflected absentmindedly stroking the dark curls.

Andrei pulled back and smiled at him. Pierre could feel his heart pounding in his chest and he didn't know why. Eyes bright, Andrei pushed Pierre backwards onto the couch. Repositioning their legs so that neither fell off the sofa took a few moments and ended with Andrei more or less lying on top of Pierre.

Pierre blushed at his reaction to that position. Andrei kissed him again, shifting his weight, and Pierre found that the other man was as aroused as he was. The intimate contact sent a thrill through his body, more so when Andrei began to move as they kissed, building friction.

Though physically strong, Pierre was powerless. He held Andrei tightly, pulling him close until the dark-haired man gasped. His kisses slowed. He lifted his head and looked Pierre in the eye, face flushed and breathing hard. Andrei removed one hand from Pierre's shoulder and traced the line of his shirt buttons. Pulling the shirt out from the waistband of his trousers, he undid them and with a deft movement slipped his hand beneath the cloth.

Pierre gasped at the touch, thrusting into his hand, his pulse racing. He moaned in ecstasy, unable to speak, hoping to convey urgency by his eyes alone. Andrei must have understood – Pierre came a few seconds later with a shudder and a cry that the prince swallowed with a kiss.

Slowly Pierre regained his breath. Opening his eyes, he saw Andrei looking down at him in impatience. Holding his gaze, the prince moved a hand downwards again, pressing against him. Every muscle in his body was rigid in frustration. Andrei's hand caught his, guided it between their bodies. He felt hot skin. Andrei's eyes widened at the touch. His slim hand fitted over Pierre's large one, leading him to where he ached for the contact.

The young man's other hand settled at Andrei's waist, feeling the taut muscles beneath his heated skin. He never took his eyes off the prince's face.

Something more than excitement bubbled in Pierre's chest as he saw how he could make Andrei's expression change, how he could bring him pleasure. By his face he could judge what was effective, and soon he had the prince gasping from his every movement. Andrei tensed, and jerked, and relaxed, his lips parting silently.

In that moment, he was beautiful.