In the grey of the predawn, Julien awoke hot and flushed, stray curls plastered to his forehead and neck with sweat. He was also achingly hard. He had been having these dreams of late. Dreams of Henri. Beautiful Henri in the throes of passion. Henri, naked, touching himself, or touching Julien. Kissing him. Like they had kissed yesterday. Guiltily, Julien pressed his face into his pillows and tried to bite back his moans as he stroked himself off. It was not right, thinking of Henri in this way. At school, he was always afraid Henri would find him in this state in the mornings. If he found out, Julien would lose him, he was sure. But he could not help himself. Somehow, his thoughts always strayed to his dark haired, green eyed, freckled friend. Julien could not stop imagining those perfect lips, plump and red from kissing. Those cheeks flushed scarlet. Henri baring his long white neck for him. Julien wanted to kiss, bite, touch – everything. He wanted to give everything he had to Henri, and to possess everything Henri had to give. He wanted Henri to cry out his name, consumed with pleasure – at the thought of this, Julien spilled himself into his hand with a strangled cry, muffled by a pillow.
Immediately, the shame consumed him. I am disgusting. A vile creature who values his friend only for his body and not for his soul. I don't deserve him. Why? Why can't I just stop wanting him? Tears pricked Julien's eyes, and he cried a bit in his frustration. Then he got up, cleaned himself, dressed, and sat awake in the chaise lounge, unable to sleep for the turmoil in his soul.
As Julien sat pondering in his room across the corridor, Henri awoke with a start. For a moment, he was unsure where he was. Then, all at once, a realization came upon him. He was in Julien's home in Provence and…and he was sticky. Henri flushed red in mortification, though there was no one to see. He had had one of those dreams again. Dreams in which Julien lie naked and spread for him, golden curls fanned out and face flushed, and Henri pleasured him in the secret way. A way he had learned from a banned medical textbook he'd obtained from Monsieur Cheverny's trunk of forbidden books. He had spoken of it to no one but, once, in the dark of night, he'd touched that secret place inside himself. It had been ecstasy. He knew he should not, but he wanted to give that pleasure to Julien. He had been feeling lately, that he needed more than petting and chaste kisses. He wanted Julien to be his lover. To be his Patroclus, or his Achilles, or both. He wanted Julien to be all his own. Perhaps that is why he had initiated the kiss the previous day. And, given Julien's reaction, perhaps, just perhaps, there was a chance this dream of Henri's might come true.
No, no, it could never be so. It surely could never be so. Embarrassed at his own thoughts and actions, Henri rose and cleaned up as best as he could, then dressed and flopped down on the chaise, embroiled in the struggle between his guilt and his desire.
Breakfast was decidedly not awkward. It could not possibly have been, because both boys were endeavoring so greatly to make natural and lively conversation. In fact, if it had been asked of Madame Enjolras (Julien's father was out on business long before their breakfast) or the servants, Henri's first morning at the Enjolras estate could not have been gayer. And, interestingly, by acting as though they were happy, the boys eventually became happy again, forgetting about their respective troubles.
Julien, Henri noticed, was a good deal less reserved around his mother than around his father. He laughed and joked with her, and told her amusing stories of school. Contrary to his reserved politeness the night before, he was just as familiar with his mother as Henri was with his own, calling her "Maman" instead of "Mére." And, to Henri's immense surprise, he thought he heard a little country twang come out in the speech of both mother and child. He had never heard Julien speak anything but pure, clean French, but now he heard a widening of vowels and a dropping of syllables even he, the middle class doctor's son, did not hear at home. Gradually, they slipped deeper into whatever language they were speaking, and Henri could not understand what was being said, but for a few scattered words and snippets of speech.
"Julien," he asked, astonished, during the first lull in their conversation, looking back and forth between the two, "Where does that accent come from?" The moment it came out of his mouth, Henri was afraid he had been rude, but he needn't have worried.
The fair-headed beauties looked at each other in synchrony and, after a pause, burst out in a short bout of uproarious laughter. Henri could only gape on, chuckling slightly in surprised amusement.
After Julien had his breath nearly back, he gasped out, "What is it, city boy, never heard anyone speak Provençal?" Henri sheepishly shook his head, aware he was being teased, but good-naturedly accepting. Julien smiled reassuringly at him, telling him he was still loved. "I shall have to teach you then," he pronounced, nodding his head determinedly.
Julien's mother laughed gaily. "Julien, you mustn't go around muddying the French language!" She turned to Henri and said apologetically, "I'm sorry. He gets it from me, I'm afraid. I'm a country gal through and through. I shall always be a dairy farmer's daughter at heart."
Henri usually would not have taken the chance, but Madame Enjolras seemed like a person with whom he could very easily speak. He decided he could risk impertinent questions and teasing. "Then… you were a milkmaid, Madame?"
"Indeed, young man," Enjolras' mother said with a smile. "Got up at dawn each morning to milk the cows.
"And may I ask, Madame, have you been to Bordeaux of late?" There was a beat of silence, then Julien laughed and swatted Henri on the arm. "Don't make fun of my mother, Henri!"
Henri feigned innocence. "I wasn't, I was simply – "
"Julien, what is the joke?" asked Madame Enjolras curiously, but not at all upset.
"It's nothing. It's a painting, Maman, and she looks nothing like you," he said with a pointed look at Henri.
"Indeed, she does not," Henri said with a smile. "It was a weak joke at best. Madame Enjolras is far more beautiful than Signor Goya's milkmaid."
Madame Enjolras threw back her head, fanned herself with her hand exaggeratedly and said, coquettishly, "Why, monsieur, you are too kind. Just too kind." She fluttered her eyelashes with all the melodrama her role deserved. Julien sat back in his seat and rolled his eyes.
"Henri, don't flirt with my mother. And Maman, don't flirt with my ami!"
Henri and Madame Enjolras laughed conspiratorially at Julien's annoyance.
"In all seriousness, Madame Enjolras," Henri began, just to be sure. "If it is as Julien has said, and I have stepped somehow out of line, please do not hesitate to rebuke me."
"Not at all," Madame Enjolras said with an amiable smile. "And do call me Clarice, dear. I abhor formality. Why else would I have taught my son such an awfully common tongue?"
"D'accord, Clarice. But, if I may say so, I should love to learn a language so rich in cultural heritage."
"Haha!" cried Julien triumphantly, punching a fist into the air. "You will be taught! Come, Henri, finish your tartine avec confiture, and we shall go riding! Care to join us Maman?"
"Oh, no, Cheri, not today."
"Very well."
And the next thing Henri knew he was being dragged off to change into riding clothes, and then off to the stables. Upon entering the stables, Henri looked around. There were six stalls, each occupied with a horse. Julien, impatient, led him to the furthest stall on the left. Written in elegant cursive on the door was the name "Gabriel." Peering inside the stall, Henri saw a majestic white stallion, quite deserving of his name.
"This is my horse, Gabriel," said Julien, excited to show Henri his pride and joy. Julien loved riding, and could not wait to share his interest with his dear friend. Gabriel nosed Julien through his window, and Julien obligingly reached into his pocket for a sugar cube.
"He's beautiful, Julien," Henri said in genuine awe.
As the magnificent beast munched, Julien led Henri to the stall across the way. The door to the stall read, "Beatrice". Inside was a chestnut mare, whose coat positively gleamed as she moved. Upon their approach, she immediately stuck her nose through her window, eager to see her visitors. "This is my mother's horse, but I am sure she would not mind if you rode her. She is the sweetest tempered mare I have ever known, and she takes kindly even to strangers and inexperienced riders." As if to give proof to this statement, Beatrice amiably nosed Henri, and he took her head and pet her gently, cooing praise.
Julien chuckled. "Here, give her a sugar cube." Henri took the treat from Julien and held out his hand to Beatrice's searching lips. When her wet mouth touched his hand, he cried out in laughter, unused to the sensation.
"She is absolutely enamored with you now! You shan't ever be rid of her. She'll follow you around forever for just one more sugar cube!" Still laughing, Julien said, "Alright, let her out and bridle her, and tie her to the ring on the wall so we can saddle her. Her bridle's there on that hook." Henri did as he was told, as Julien did the same to Gabriel.
After Julien had finished with Gabriel, he looked over to see Henri's progress. He was still struggling with the fastenings to the bridle, and was unsure of what went where. Why, he had the ear hole over Beatrice's eye! And poor Beatrice just patiently tolerated it!
"Henri!" Julien yelped, trying unsuccessfully not to laugh at the hilarity. Crossing to where his friend struggled with Beatrice, he said, "Let me help you. Come here." Henri stood expectantly, waiting for Julien to do it for him. "No, silly, come here. You must do it yourself or you will never learn." Henri stepped closer to Beatrice, and Julien took his hand, placing it on the bridle. Henri's skin sparked at to touch of the warm hand over his. He is so close to me.
"See here?" Julien said into his ear, still standing ever so close. "Take this and slip it over her ear. Not her eye." Henri grinned sheepishly, embarrassed at his ignorance. "There. Do you see how it ought to fit now?"
"Oui, Julien. I understand now." Julien moved away to fetch the saddles then, and Henri finished with Beatrice's bridle, distinctly aware of the absence of Julien's warm body next to his.
The saddle was somewhat easier for Henri to grasp, but Julien still needed to help Henri and make sure the girth was fastened neither too loosely nor too tightly. Finally, however, their horses were saddled and they were ready to ride. They led their horses out into the morning sunlight. What a beautiful day it was to ride – blue skies and a pleasant breeze.
"Henri, mon cher, watch how I mount, and do the same." Julien then put his right foot into his stirrup and swung his left over the horse. Henri, surprisingly, had no issues with this, and easily jumped up into the saddle. Julien laughed in amazement. "It seems you are a natural!"
Henri was not so sure. "We shall see, shan't we?"
"Just remember to squeeze her tightly with your thighs so you don't fall. Keep your heels down in the stirrups and give her a moderate kick when you wish for a speedier gait. The reigns are easy enough. Pull the right side when you wish to turn right, and left for left. Don't panic and pull back on the reigns. That tells her you wish her to stop or slow down."
Henri looked incredulously at Julien, "That is an awful lot of information all at once."
Julien simply gave his most winsome smile. "I have perfect faith in you. We will start at a walk."
Julien urged Gabriel into motion and Henri followed suit. To his surprise, it was quite easy. Beatrice did just what he wanted her to do. After a while, Julien pulled up beside Henri. "You seem confident enough now. Why don't we try a trot? It is admittedly a bit difficult at first. One must have a feel for the horse's rhythm. When her shoulders rise, you must already be rising out of their way, and when they fall, you will fall to with them. This ensures a much smoother ride for both horse and rider."
Julien urged Gabriel into a trot and posted along with him, demonstrating for Henri. Henri spurred Beatrice into the proper gait. It was difficult. He couldn't seem to find her rhythm, and sat bouncing in the saddle. He closed his eyes in embarrassment. He didn't want Julien to laugh and think him stupid. All of a sudden, however, he caught on to the pattern of Beatrice's gait. It is because I closed my eyes. And, indeed it was. Without distractions from his eyes, Henri could distinctly feel the mare's body moving beneath him. Once one gets the hang of posting, one can't ever forget it, and so Henri was posting like a pro in a matter of minutes.
Julien could only stare in amazement. Henri was truly a natural with horses. Who would have thought? Then, he supposed it made sense. Henri was a very gentle and reassuring fellow who had a way with people as well as animals. He would make a very good doctor someday.
"Henri," he called, "you're an absolute natural, mon ami! It seems you have the basics down. Let's race!" And, with that, Julien galloped away through the rolling grass, laughing with joy at the wind in his face.
"That's not fair! You have a head start!" called Henri with glee, even as he gained. Faster and faster they rode, in a constant battle to outstrip the other. Hoof beats could be heard tumbling over the earth, resonating through the boys' chests. Their hair flew wild with the wind, and their cheeks flushed with exertion. Whoops of exhilaration echoed through the air, and laughter spouted unbidden from beaming mouths. Finally, after what could have been a second or a year, the boys reigned in their panting horses at the creek, and tumbled off in a flurry of limbs into the grass, where they lied side by side.
As their horses drank, their laughter died down into a comfortable silence. Neither felt the need to speak. It was enough simply to be in each other's company. Julien shimmied closer, and laid his head on Henri's shoulder, and the latter wrapped his arm around Julien in response.
Julien nuzzled his head into the crook of Henri's neck and whispered, "Je t'aime, mon ami." Henri's heart swelled with utter content, and all he could do was lean down, palm his friend's cheek, and kiss him. Kiss him with all his soul. It was not a fiery kiss of youthful passion, but a kiss of love, and both took joy simply from their closeness, the touch of their lips, and the feel of the other's breath on their skin. They broke apart with sunny smiles, and a shared look that spoke volumes.
Rising to his feet, Julien said, "Come. The horses are drifting. Let us ride home." So they went to the horses, which were now a little ways away, and climbed into their saddles. They rode home at a walk, enjoying the pleasant weather and an easy conversation about such things as school and home and family.
Coming to the stables, they reigned in, but before they could dismount, Julien leaned over to where Henri sat astride, and gave him one last affectionate kiss on the mouth. Henri blushed and glanced nervously around. "Julien! Anyone could have seen," he hissed, embarrassed.
Julien only gave his green-eyed friend another winsome smile. "Ah, but they did not. And I would not care if they did, anyhow."
Henri raised a skeptical eyebrow, but they dismounted and led their horses into the stables without another word. Little did they know that a pair of brilliant blue eyes – eyes like Julien's – had been watching from an upstairs window.