Hardly Ever

Marius decided afterward that he must have been drunk, because he would never have let Bahorel kiss him

(or kissed Bahorel, leaning against the wall of the Corinthe, his arms around his friend's neck, the thick scent of wine and sweat in his nostrils)

and he would never have gone home with him

(or kissed Bahorel again in the fiacre, when the driver was busy, and heard him chuckle, and felt the heat of his hand on the small of his back)

and he would never have touched him

(or let himself be touched, caressed, bereft of words to describe what he wanted and startled into incoherence when the answer occurred to Bahorel, who had him lean on a desk, who knelt, who kissed him and licked him and sucked him with ravenous tenderness and gentle voracity)

and he would never have gone to bed with him

(or fallen into bed with him, half-crushed beneath his weight and breathless with desire so bright he could hardly see and could not protest)

and he would never have stayed if things grew strange

(or said, "Yes, yes, God, please, yes," to things he only vaguely understood and found his hands bound to the headboard with his own cravat, between kisses rich with promises of decadence to match the caress of silk)

and he certainly would never have complied with any indecent suggestions

(or begged to be kissed as Bahorel pressed inside him, moaning with the dizziness of being held by the ties at his wrists, by the arm around his torso, by Bahorel's weight above him and heat inside him and quick, teasing tongue)

and he would never, ever have enjoyed any such visit

(or cried out with his desire until Bahorel stroked him roughly, saying God knew what between kisses that stole Marius's breath and sense and mind until he groaned, too bound and kissed and fucked to think, and spent against his friend's chest, which only served to spur him on until he reached his climax with perhaps the most fascinating play of expressions Marius had ever seen cross another person's face)

and he would never have allowed himself to fall asleep

(or wake at dawn to Bahorel's soft snores and steal away, sure he ought to have a headache worse than if he had been kicked by a horse)

and he would have well and truly deserved the hangover.

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