Chapter Text
“Congratulations, Your Excellency.”, came Lafayette’s words. They were slow, meticulously spoken with the faint tinge of some sort of devilish mischief. He made them sound sweet, yet dangerous. Designed them to excite - to leave one wondering what would come from his lips next.
In his hands were a box. A lovely, well decorated box that was wrapped in a fine paper of red, tied closed with a black ribbon in a bow knot. Gilbert made . George eyed the box, then paid a glance to the presenter. He was not put-off per se by the present. No, the gesture was well received; he minded not what Lafayette did for him in the slightest but, he surely minded the effects.
Lafayette was still young and to George, that was one reasonable excuse as to why the Frenchman acted the way he did. To George, Gilbert was but a puppy-dog. Although a very adult-like and resourceful pup.
“ Pour toi. ”
George cleared his throat and took the box . He turned it over, being careful not to shake it and break what was inside. Lafayette watched him study the gift, bouncing on his heels and smiling with excitement.
“For what do I deserve such congratulations? Surely I am not being jested.” George responded with a small smile. It was warm, hiding some slight embarrassment for being gifted something as sweet upfront. Lafayette returned the smile, shaking his head.
“Would I ever jest you, Your Excellency? Or do you prefer ‘ Mr. President’, now?” He asked jokingly, stepping forward more until they were barely an inch apart. He stood upon his toes to perform his signature la bise, though this time, the action bore twice the kiss upon each cheek, a sign of his deeper affections towards the older man. In return, George hooked an arm around the Marquis’ waist and kept him close, gazing down at Gilbert under the orange glow of the garden lamps. And in that position- in their closeness with nothing but their own wills keeping them apart-- in the warm spring night, with the sounds of bullfrogs and crickets in the distance and under the bright stars above, George kissed him. He kissed the Marquis slow and deep. Their mouths touched first with a warm embarrassment, then became bolder, more sure and passionate. Their lips pushed against each other with sweet pressure. He cupped Lafayette's face with his hands; his fingers, rough from years of labor, caressed the Frenchman's cheek with a delicacy and softness that rivaled silk.
To Lafayette, George tasted like a man. Like hard work and whiskey. Old and worn yet still operating on an inhumane fuel. He tasted like victorious rage and power. Godly. Excellent.
And to George, Lafayette tasted wild; a pure fire that burned the wicks of church candles and set aflame the ropes of canons. He tasted uncharacteristically dangerous yet wonderfully sweet like the icing of a fine cake. And with fire, there was heat and hellish danger-- unexpected from the outside appearance of the still young man that he embraced and held so closely.
A hand pushed gently on George's shoulder, pushing him back and breaking the lengthy kiss. Lafayette dared to stare into those blues-those pretty, blessed blues, like the sky’s calm azure or the Blue Jay’s bright feathers--those eyes, he dared to look in, but, he could not...he looked away, bashful. He could feel his cheeks heat under the elder man’s palm.
“My dear Marie, I am not quite familiar still with the customs of the French but, is it acceptable to turn rose and hide away as you give a gift?” George asked teasingly, looking at his flushed friend.
“Well, Mon Général, you’d be quite correct. But, you make me quite...diffident, as one would say. If you were as shy as I under your solid gaze-you too, would look away.”
“I make you nervous, Lafayette? Is it my affections that cause you such ? Perhaps I shall withdraw my tender touches upon your person?”
Oh! Dare he say such words to him! Gilbert gasped at those words, he could not survive without His Excellency’s ardour and love--he could not bear the thought of going along without the touch of George’s hands or the weight of his lips or body! He could cry at the idea! Curse those words and his poor heart!
“Oh, George! Curse those words that you so idly let slip! Speak none more of such,” He gripped the lapels of George’s outdoor coat. Gripped them tightly, as if letting him go would surely turn him to nothing before his very eyes.”And if your love were to be snatched away from me like a lowly thief steals a horse- why, I’d simply die.”
George, slightly taken aback by the sudden, fearful outburst of the younger man, his face turns to that of deep concern. His brows raised in confusion and Lafayette’s grip grew tighter.
“ And, Your Excellency, you kiss so sweetly, it’d be worse than damnation to never feel your lips upon mine.” He whispered, a playful smile dancing on his face. He met eyes with George.
“Lafayette..Gilbert…I would never but- let us not forget that I am wedded to Martha and you to Marie. There will be a time in which we must part wa-”
“ AH ! Again with these words! No more! Spare me the words! Je ne veux plus rien savoir! Oh, Mon General,” Lafayette shook his head and pushed his face onto Washington’s coat. His voice was shaking and the edges were just as wet as his face with sorrow, “why must you break my heart like so?”, he finished with a sorrowful whisper into the fabric of the coat. George grabbed the tearful man’s shoulders, firm, authoritative.
“Lafayette, it is not my intent to break your heart, God knows that is not my intent, and I know it makes you weep now, but it is the truth, my boy.”
“Well the truth hurts, George ! It hurts more than a thousand lashings upon a wet back! It burns more than the licks of fire and engelure! Your love wounds me, George!,” He beat at the General’s chest weekly, “Your love's too strong, and I am weak…”
“Gilbert please, please you know that is not my reason for saying such. To wound you with my love, as you say, was not my drive. I did-no, I do not wish to hurt you.”
“But you have...you did not mean to, but you have. Je déteste ta amour...je déteste notre amour--”, Suddenly, as a new wind blew, ceasing the nighttime chatter of the creatures, Gilbert’s mood shifted. His entire demeanor- from the sobbing, nervous mess that wiped his tears upon Washington’s coat to one more leveled and natural.
George felt...conflicted to say the least.
“Ah,” He started apologetically, “I-I’m sorry, Mon General, I-I let my emotions get the better of me. I called you out of title...and weeped before you like a child…” He wiped at the wet coat with a quick, shaking hand, as if to wipe away the breakdown he just had. George couldn’t help the confused stare he was giving him--it was well earned! Never had he met a more hysterical man, and only had he heard by playful mockery of his boy from others if how wild he could become!
'Perhaps,' George thought to himself, 'this situation will not have a proper turn.