Author:   Pairing: Prouvaire/Bahorel  Rating: PG-13

Bahorel would have thought it impossible for flowery verses to be written about him, of all people. But, after coming across a certain poem he probably wasn't supposed to see, he decided he would never doubt anything again, least of all Jean Prouvaire's romanticism.

He worried sometimes if he might be taking advantage of the boy. They met nearly every day, and most nights. Bahorel had learned by this time not to worry any more about shattering Jehan's innocence, for he had already done so quite thoroughly. He had also learned not to become jealous of the girls that Jehan spent time with; it was important to Jehan that he keep up a convincing faade. They both knew well that, while their group of friends might be more tolerant than most, they could not risk being found out. They usually met at Bahorel's apartment and occasionally at Prouvaire's. Bahorel's first gift to Jehan was a working lock for his door (although the boy was rich, he had managed to land himself in the one apartment in the building with a broken lock.) It had proven useful on more than one occasion.

Bahorel had had the bright idea to dress Jehan up as a girl so that they could go out in public together. Jehan had not been averse to the plan, and it only failed because they didn't have a way to get him a dress. They would have needed a female confidante to buy the clothes and help him learn to put them on, and they did not dare ask anyone.

This particular evening saw them at Bahorel's, in their second hour of passionate kissing for the day. They didn't do much talking; companionship could happen outside the bedroom. They didn't have much in common anyway, aside from a desire for men and radical politics.

A knock on the door startled both of them. Jehan uttered a squeak and hastily buttoned his shirt, looking around for the rest of his clothing. Bahorel assessed the situation. He still had most of his clothes on, enough that he could open the door without causing the person on the other side to faint from shock. Prouvaire's presence caused a problem, though. And he had no closet. He thought quickly. "Get under the bed," he whispered. "And don't make a sound."

Jehan complied, however ridiculous it seemed. He took his trousers and waistcoat with him so as not to leave any evidence.

The knock came again. Bahorel got up and opened the door to reveal Enjolras, who looked quite displeased. "Where have you been?" he demanded to know.

Suddenly Bahorel remembered that he had been due to meet at the caf at eight. "I forgot," he said bluntly.

"You forgot," Enjolras repeated, clearly not believing him. "Don't 'forget' tomorrow evening; I have some important information." He looked up at Bahorel, something he did not have to do to many people, and said, "Tell Prouvaire his presence was missed."


"Don't play the idiot, Bahorel. If that's not Prouvaire's coat over there, then your sense of style is worse than I imagined."

"Oh, that." Bahorel searched for an excuse. "He's, ah, been teaching me Italian. He must have left his coat here."

"A chi fa male, mai mancano scuse," Enjolras said in bitter, poorly-pronounced Italian. Bahorel moved to close the door, but Enjolras stepped inside. "Bahorel, please tell me you have not been having--relations--with Prouvaire."

"I'm friends with him," Bahorel said.

"As am I, but I have never broken commitments to spend time with him. And I hope that's all you're doing, spending time." He looked around the room. "Where have you hidden him?"

"He went home two hours ago," Bahorel lied. "He left his coat here, that's all. I'll get it back to him tomorrow."

"I thought I could trust you."

"Enjolras, I don't understand-"

"Are you Prouvaire's lover or aren't you?"

"I don't know where you would get that idea--"

"Don't lie to me!" Enjolras stormed out the door without waiting for further response. Bahorel slammed the door shut after him and locked it securely.

"Merde, Jehan," he said apologetically.

Jehan crawled out from under the bed, scared half out of his mind. "What's he going to do to us?" He had seen Enjolras get angry before, but never at one of his friends.

"He's just jealous," Bahorel teased, trying to make light of the situation. "I would be, too, if someone else were having you."

"I probably should go home," Jehan said, moving to get to his feet.

"I think you'd better stay the night," Bahorel suggested. "I'd hate for you to run into him on your way home."

"But what if he checks my apartment next?"

"You wouldn't make it there before he would," said Bahorel, running his hand through Jehan's long hair. "Don't worry about it, cher. I'll take care of things in the morning. For now..."

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