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Combeferre is studying. Musain House has been loud lately; they're getting ready for rush, which is always a chaotic time, Joly and Bossuet are involved in a very loud and public fight, and Grantaire is being, well, Grantaire, and Combeferre shares a room with her, and that is never stress-free. So when the house is miraculously empty for the day, she's getting some much needed studying done. She has an essay due in a week and she's woefully underprepared for it, which isn't like her.
And of course, she only gets a couple hours worth of reading done before she's interrupted. She hears the door open downstairs and winces. Hopefully whoever it is will leave her alone, and it won't be Joly coming to tell her about the disease she's caught this week. Joly always comes to Combeferre when she's particularly freaked out about something, because Combeferre is the only one who can talk her down besides Bossuet. And as Joly is currently fighting with Bossuet, Combeferre has had to hear about how Joly might have Parkinson's (because she swears she felt a tremor in her hand the other day) and lupus, and something else that Combeferre is pretty sure she made up. And that's just this week.
It's not Joly, but it's worse. Courfeyrac skips up the stairs (and yes, she skips, Combeferre can hear it), and pops her head into Combeferre's room.
It's not that Combeferre doesn't want to see Courfeyrac- actually, that's exactly what it is. She doesn't want to see Courfeyrac. But it isn't that she doesn't like her. It's more like she likes her too much. Combeferre is a rational girl. She never dives in head-first, and she always thinks things out comprehensively before deciding to get involved. However, it turns out that you can't exactly decide to not feel things. That's the shitty thing about emotions. They tend to happen whether you want them to or not.
When Combeferre first realizes she spends what she deems too much time thinking about Courfeyrac (her short brown hair, the way it curls just so around her face, and her lips, bright red and smacking), she decides to make a list of pros and cons.
It looks a little like this:
Pros of liking Courfeyrac: considered attractive (very attractive, she writes and then crosses out). Kind. Caring. Most likely good in bed. Spontaneous (Combeferre knows very well that she's never been considered spontaneous, and she thinks that relationships should be balanced, each person bringing something specific to the table). Laughs at my jokes, even when nobody else catches them. Very, very attractive.
Cons of liking Courfeyrac: does not date anyone seriously (Combeferre actually doesn't think that Courfeyrac has ever been in an honest-to-goodness relationship, now that she thinks of it). Will get bored of me. I am too boring for Courfeyrac. Why would Courfeyrac even like me? I make stupid lists like this. Can never tell what she's thinking (this unsettles Combeferre to no end, because she's very good at reading people, and not getting a good read on Courfeyrac scares her). Makes me doubt myself. I never doubt myself.
She takes a look at the last two and frowns. It's true. Combeferre is smart, attractive, and self-assured, but never arrogant. She's thoughtful and she has a lot of close friends. But there is something about Courfeyrac that makes her second-guess herself, and it's a feeling she isn't comfortable with, and she certainly doesn't like.
But Courfeyrac is blissfully unaware of "the list," though Grantaire has found it, and mocked Combeferre for it. But Grantaire swore to keep it a secret, and she actually commiserated with Combeferre. Combeferre knows about Grantaire's hopeless crush on Enjolras. So does everyone. In fact, the only person who doesn't know is Enjolras herself. But this new and inconvenient thing she has for Courfeyrac gives her a sympathy and understanding for Grantaire that she didn't have before. They're closer for it, and Combeferre is actually grateful.
She's not, however, grateful for the way Courfeyrac invites herself into Combeferre's space, flopping down onto the bed with a dramatic sigh.
"Go away," Combeferre says, deliberately not looking up from her book. She's smiling, despite the deadpan of her voice. She knows that there's nothing Courfeyrac hates more than when nobody will pay attention to her. "I'm studying."
"Boring," Courfeyrac pouts. "Everyone else is busy."
"Oh," Combeferre says lightly, but she's a little hurt. So she's a last resort.
"I don't mean it like that, Combeferrero-rocher," Courfeyrac rolls her eyes, using the nickname she coined when they first met, and she'd thought herself so clever. Whenever Combeferre is stressed, or upset, Courfeyrac leaves her packages of the chocolates hidden under her pillow, or in her bookbag. Score one for the pro list. "I just meant that I knew you were studying, so I didn't want to bother you.
But nobody else is around, so you'll just have to give up your books for the greater good."
"The greater good?" Combeferre asks doubtfully.
"Yes! You know the only person who can cause more trouble than me is Grantaire, and Enjolras bullied her into going to some student government meeting, which means if you unleash me onto the world, I'll have to start double the shit to make up for it."
Courfeyrac has a point. There's no telling what she'll do when she's bored, so Combeferre closes her book and sets it on her desk with a thud.
"What do you want to do?" She asks, resigned.
"Let's make out on Grantaire's bed." Courfeyrac says immediately, smirking.
Combeferre splutters. "Excuse me? No, that's, god Courf, are you drunk?" She stammers out, unable to stop the flush that rises on her cheeks. She smoothes down her hair; it's one of her nervous ticks.
"I was just kidding," Courfeyrac says, and Combeferre can't help the tiny flare of disappointment that rises in her stomach.
Courfeyrac notices though, and Combeferre hates herself for being so transparent.
"Unless you want to," she trails off in a sing-song, grinning widely. For Courfeyrac, it's no big deal. Not the way it is for Combeferre. Courfeyrac doesn't really separate intimacy from her friendships. She's kissed all of them, at one point or another. Even Enjolras deigned to kiss Courfeyrac once, when she was drunk. And Courfeyrac has definitely hooked up with Grantaire, and probably Jehan too, now that Combeferre thinks about it. Courfeyrac even made it an initiation rite. She and Combeferre are vice-presidents of the sorority under Enjolras, and now nobody gets accepted without kissing Courfeyrac. They tried to veto it, but once Courfeyrac gets ahold of an idea, she's like a bulldog, and it seemed easier to accept defeat gracefully.
The point is, Combeferre doesn't really do things by halves, and she doesn't want to get involved with someone who isn't serious about her. It's worse because Courfeyrac is her friend, one of her closest, and she knows that Courfeyrac cares about her, just not the same way Combeferre cares about Courfeyrac. But Courfeyrac looks so at ease, leaning back on her arms, head tipped back. She looks inviting, and Combeferre doesn't know if Courfeyrac even realizes she's doing it. It's just her nature.
And Combeferre knows that Courfeyrac is expecting her to refuse, to drag her downstairs and put on the television, or worse yet, go back to studying. And Combeferre doesn't want to. She wants to kiss Courfeyrac, she wants to know what she tastes like underneath the cherry chapstick she's always wearing.
So she gets up, steels herself, and goes to sit down on the bed next to Courfeyrac, who widens her eyes comically, clearly surprised.
"Let's do it," Combeferre says with a confidence she doesn't feel. "But not on Grantaire's bed. That's just weird."
It takes Courfeyrac a moment to recover, but once she does, she leans forward, brushing her thumb across Combeferre's jaw.
"You sure?" She asks, giving Combeferre one last chance to back out.
"Of course I am," Combeferre retorts. "Unless you're not."
Courfeyrac just snorts and leans forward all the way, until her lips, just barely parted, are pressed against Combeferre's. Combeferre is cautious at first, but Courfeyrac makes Combeferre feel at ease, and it feels natural to wind her fingers in Courfeyrac's hair and slip her tongue into Courfeyrac's mouth, and all of a sudden the air feels heavier, and every breath that Combeferre takes into her lungs feels like thick, slow-moving honey.
Courfeyrac, for her part, is surprised, and then impressed. Most people kiss her hungrily; they want exactly one thing from her, and once they get it, they leave. She doesn't mind it. Most of the time she just wants exactly one thing from them too, and she's not looking for any more. But Combeferre kisses slowly, measured and deep. She kisses like she's studying Courfeyrac, like she's taking in every bit of information Courf has to offer, from the way her tongue curls around Combeferre's to the crookedness of her teeth as if there is a pattern to be learned.
Courfeyrac thinks that Combeferre could write an entire thesis paper on Courfeyrac, just on what she learns from her kisses; a dissertation on the smooth skin behind her ear. She imagines Combeferre sitting in a room, answering questions from her professors. She would sit there in her prim pencil skirt, coal-colored hair pulled back into a bun and talk clinically about the way that Courfeyrac latches needy onto her hips, and the wet, soft noises she makes as she trails her mouth down Combeferre's neck. It shouldn't turn her on but it does. She feels like she's being stripped naked, like Combeferre is seeing everything that the other boys and girls didn't know to look for.
Courfeyrac bucks up, sliding her calf up Combeferre's leg until she's hooked securely around Combeferre's waist. She gently pushes back at Combeferre and turns them so that now Courfeyrac is on top, and they break apart.
There are two spots of color on Combeferre's cheekbones, and her shirt is rucked up, exposing her stomach. Her hair is a disaster, and she looks completely undone. She is the most beautiful that Courfeyrac has ever seen her.
She says so, and Combeferre blushes deeply, a pleased smile on her face.
"Well, this is marginally better than studying," Combeferre acquiesces, and laughs at Courfeyrac's outraged expression.
"Marginally? I'll show you marginally," She mutters and she nips underneath Combeferre's jaw, which she notices Combeferre is sensitive to. She doesn't stop until Combeferre is moaning under her ministrations, and she's left a mark that won't go away for days.
"Okay," Combeferre gasps, fingers tight around Courfeyrac's upper arms and eyes closed tightly. "Much better than studying, much, much better."
Courfeyrac grins, satisfied, and kisses Combeferre.
"Well then, we'll just have to do it some more."
The bed is warm and Courfeyrac is even warmer, so Combeferre just nods her head and sighs, opening her mouth to Courfeyrac once again. She gets her hands underneath Courfeyrac's loose tank and splays them out over Courfeyrac's skin. She feels right there; the air is heady and Courfeyrac is a comforting weight above her, so she closes her eyes and tries not to over think it. Courfeyrac is hers for right now anyway, and that's all she needs to know.