Enjolras/Combeferre, 30, Out of necessity (trapped in a small space, etc.) preferred setting: a coach or diligence, a crawlspace, a closet, or another hide from the cops ish place. Preferred year: 1831, 1829, 1828. Preferred mood: FLUFFY U MONSTER ps Ill write smth for u later if u want
“It’s an old model, you see, but still perfectly functional for your purposes,” said Lefevre, waving one of the copies he’d just printed from his ‘clandestine’ printing press. “My grandfather made use of the very same one, just before the Revolution, so we have a long history of -- Hold a moment.”
As he headed the door, Combeferre returned his admiring attention to the machine before them. Perfectly functional, if not quite as adept at the industrial-scale printing that was propagating the modern age. If it lacked something in speed or quality, that was a consequence of how well it excelled at its true priorities: such a small machine could be shoved away into the closet of any decent-sized apartment. An invaluable tool, then.
Combeferre was not expecting to put that function of it to use so immediately.
Lefevre turned back to the two of them with an urgent expression on his face. “Take the press and hide! It’s the police!” he said in a hush, and Enjolras sprang to action immediately, lifting his half of the press and attempting to drag it to little avail, until Combeferre lent him his strength as well.
They managed to fit the press into the closet, but they had enough time only to close the door behind them before the front door banged open, and Combeferre felt his breath leave him.
The press could fit comfortably in the closet; that was, after all, what it had been designed to do. That was not quite the case with two men in the closet at the same time. Combeferre found himself half bent over part of the press, the rest of his body, and his arms, pressed tightly against Enjolras, who was himself squeezed into the corner of the closet. Worst of all, he couldn’t readjust himself without running the risk of making some godawful noise and giving them both away, along with the worker who was already risking himself to aid them.
So Combeferre kept his breathing as shallow as he could, trying to make himself less obtrusive, and listened to the insistent chattering outside, pushing away the urge to step in and knowing it could only do more harm than good. He did his very best not to pay any attention to Enjolras.
At least until he began to feel hot breath against his face, and then the near-silent sounds of Enjolras carefully adjusting himself against the wall -- but closer, rather than farther, to Combeferre. Their hearts were both beating urgently, but Enjolras was now leaning his head against Combeferre in a way that was surely deliberate.
Or perhaps he simply preferred Combeferre’s body to the hard wall. Still, Combeferre lifted his arms just a fraction, and Enjolras practically pushed himself into them, gripping a little at his coat, until Combeferre closed the embrace around him. His hair smelled clean and enticing, and the way Enjolras nestled against him filled him with a sense of utter safety and peace despite everything. As though Enjolras could protect him, simply because he wished it to be so.
Who could deny Enjolras, after all?
Certainly not Combeferre, not in this. Just as he was thinking that perhaps this was not uncomfortable after all, perhaps he could grow used to Enjolras’s cheek against his shoulder, his breath along his neck, his hands against his chest, the door opened abruptly and Combeferre tumbled out, followed much more gracefully by Enjolras, who looked for all the world as if nothing unusual had occurred.
“They’re gone now?” Enjolras asked, and Lefevre gave them both a nod and a word of thanks. “Citizen, it is we who should be thanking you for your contribution. You put yourself at risk to save us, and though I wish it were the first and only time you might ever have to make such a risk, I know that’s far from true.” Combeferre had straightened himself up again, and was adjusting his waistcoat, as Enjolras lay his hand on the man’s shoulder. “We are in your debt, and you have our gratitude. We’ll be in touch very soon, my friend, I promise.”
As they left, Combeferre kept his eyes on Enjolras’s, searching for any sign of acknowledgement that something had happened. Yet there was nothing odd or unnatural about his behavior now. And after Enjolras placed his arm in Combeferre’s, talking excitedly about the potential in their new friend and looking up at Combeferre with real fondness, Combeferre began to wonder if that something hadn’t been perfectly natural for them after all.
