"The system of taxation can't possibly be just," Bahorel insisted, putting on his hat and leaving.
"Taxes are necessary," Enjolras repeated.
"Men must support their government's weight."
They bickered up to Bahorel's door. He left off a tirade and put an arm around Enjolras' shoulders, pulling him into a kiss.
"What --? You're mad," Enjolras spluttered.
"I'm done debating."
"As am I." Bahorel tugged him closer.
When they fell asleep at last, hair tousled, skin glistening with perspiration, each had small, oval bruises on his hips, emerging marks on his neck, and a smile on his face.
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