Sang Froid

Wensleydale

           Durand was drunk.

Not the kind of drunk that leads to vomiting and hangovers. The obsessive kind of drunk. The kind where you can't stop thinking about that one person, and when you start wondering what they're up to, you can't help but take another mouthful of your beer. 

Durand did just that, gulping down this particular tavern's brand of ale, and sighed to himself. Lia was probably dining with some regent or queen at the moment, and he was stuck here, biding his time. This particular mission called only for Lia's talents at the moment, and he and Robespierre were stuck here. 

Maximilien Robespierre. What is he up to right now? While a capable spy and a vital member of Le Secret du Roi, he seemed more a third wheel when it came to Lia and Durand. Maximilien didn't seem to mind, at least if he got his own separate room. It sure beat being privy to the ruckus he and Lia created. 

Lia...Durand felt a stirring in his loins and took another swig from his stein. Deciding it best not to drink himself into a stupor again--after Lia finished her mission, the trio had to escape quickly--he decided to head up to his room. 

He slammed the door shut, underestimating his strength thanks to the liquor; the noise seemed to snap Durand to his senses. He survived Lia's missions before, even the ones that required certain abilities only she possessed. If the assignment called for seduction, it was for the honor and glory of France that Lia work her charm on the Duke, Queen, or any other member of royalty. She had been perfectly frank at the beginning of the relationship, informing Durand of these job-related infidelities. At the time, he accepted that part of her--right now, he wasn't so sure. 

He threw his scabbard on a chair and heaved himself onto the mattress. Rolling onto his back, Durand stared at the ceiling. His thoughts started to wander, and he found himself imagining Lia and some recently-met noblewoman interacting; talking, dining...touching...kissing...

He stopped short, breathing heavily and feeling himself harden with these inebriated thoughts. He had to take his mind off of her! He needed to sleep instead of entertaining these fantasies. He cursed himself for neglecting to bring any books, and felt uncomfortable at the thought of composing any letters in his current state. He suddenly remembered that Robespierre was rooming on the third floor, and that he might be awake. At the very least, they could go over the plan set for dawn. 




Haltingly, he rapped lightly on the wood and waited for a response. Nothing. "Maxmilien?" 
He raised his knuckles to knock again when an expectant voice responded. "Come in." 

Durand lightly stepped over the threshold and quietly shut the door behind him. The walls were mottled with candlelight and flame from the fireplace. As he looked up, he could tell that even with a fire the room didn't provide adequate heat for Robespierre-the wiry man had buried himself in his bedding, a thick book in his hands. 

"I was tired of dealing with the maids, so forgive me for my slow response. I generally like to be left to my own devices at this time of the night." Maximilien gestured to his reading. 

Durand sighed and leaned back. "That's the exact opposite of how I feel right now, except instead of maids I'd rather be dealing with Lia."

Maximilien didn't respond to this, and had continued with his reading. Durand tried again. "I mean, these missions where we're forced to stay behind are the worst. All that waiting and wondering, worrying about my...our comrade, hoping that this mission will go without a hitch."

Robespierre didn't look up from his book, which rubbed Durand the wrong way. He took a step forward. "I mean, don't you ever worry about what might happen?"

Snapping his book shut with a loud crack, Maximilen stared at Durand intently. "This is likely the reason why we aren't supposed to form those sort of bonds with one other. I believe we are supposed to show a modest amount of professionalism in this field, yes?"

Durand was taken aback. He wasn't certain whether it was the alcohol or his worries about Lia that caused him to take action, but without pausing to think he strode up to the bed, wrenched the book from Robespierre's hands, and threw it towards the fire. 

He immediately regretted this, especially after Maximilien backhanded him. 

Durand stumbled backwards, surprised that this normally reserved man contained such vitriol. He had never seen this much emotion from Robespierre. Perhaps he'd also been drinking? Durand hadn't noticed any evidence of wine and, unless this was a completely different man than he worked with for the past few months, there wasn't any beer involved. 

Meanwhile, Maximilien threw the covers off and ran to the fireplace. Durand turned to face him, and noted with relief that he missed his target-Robespierre clutched the still-intact book to his chest. 

Flushed with embarrassment, Maximilien slowly walked back to his bed. "I...apologize for my recent outburst. I have no excuse." He then reached to the settee near his headboard and turned to Durand, offering a handkerchief. "You're bleeding."
Durand sheepishly took the piece of cloth and dabbed at the side of his mouth. His right cheek ached, and he sighed. "I wasn't thinking straight either..." He took a place on the mattress and sat with his head in his hands. "Lia's just...always in my head, and I know that she can take care of herself, but after a few beers my worries just all hit me at once."

Maximilien looked pensive, and at the very least, the whole situation reminded Durand that the man had emotions in spite of his outward demeanor. Clad only in black leggings and a loose undershirt, still clutching his book to his chest, Maximilien appeared vulnerable.

"I am...jealous of your relationship. Even with all the stress and extreme circumstances, you and Lia de Beaumont maintain a life outside of espionage. All I have are words, words, words..." Robespierre gestured to his book.

"I always thought you enjoyed being alone; it always seemed like we inconvenienced you." Durand leaned back and stared at the rafters. "You aren't a third wheel, Maximilien; while I may feel my relationship with our partner is exclusive, the truth is that Lia doesn't belong to anyone. That's her strength, at least in this job." The truth pained him, and telling it to another person made it all clearer. Either that, or the alcohol was keeping him depressed.

"Lia certainly is good at what she does-I respect her. I suppose you just wanted to be the one to tame her, then?" Durand nodded. "I can't blame you for trying. My problem is that I try not to get close to anyone, because otherwise I'd probably spend as much time worrying as you do. I get quite attached, as you found out with my book." Robespierre gingerly placed his book on the bed between himself and Durand, who picked it up and started thumbing through the pages.

Inebriation and unfamiliarity with the material turned the sentences into meaningless letters. After a moment, he felt Robespierre's gaze on him. Durand turned back to the pages, and attempted to make sense of the book. Punctuated only by the sounds of the fire and turning pages, the silence in the room started to confuse Durand. He was used to Lia, always moving about and talking; here, Maximilien contented himself to simply sit and watch. 

As Durand noted this, Robespierre slid closer and asked, "What do you think of 
Cicero's ideas? Fascinating considering the times we face." He looked excited for once, another thing Durand was not used to. "I didn't realize you were interested in these things." By now, Maximilien had closed the space between them.

Icy fingers grazed the bruise on Durand's cheek, catching him unawares. He didn't know how to respond, and simply snapped the book shut. The noise seemed to break the trance, and he pulled back. "I'm not sure I exactly understand everything in here, Maximilien."

Blonde eyebrows furrowed, and Robespierre looked a bit disappointed. "Maybe I can explain it to you?" He leaned close and pulled on Durand's shoulder so that they were face to face. 

Durand was now too stunned to move; his senses were suddenly overwhelmed by the proximity of the other man, familiar and at the same time a stranger. Robespierre's eyes studied the other man's face, and he moved his hand back to Durand's cheek. Durand closed his eyes; since he couldn't bring himself to turn away, he had to escape the intensity of the stare somehow. 

"Is something wrong?" Durand opened his eyes to find Maximilien expressing concern--another previously unseen sentiment. He put his other hand to Durand's face; it sent chills through his body in spite of the alcohol. Yet Durand still found himself unable to tear away from the touch.

"Why are your hands so cold?" 

The edge of Robespierre's mouth turned up in a smirk. "A book doesn't keep one as warm as another body does." With that, he pulled Durand's lips towards his, and the resulting kiss seemed to take all the warmth from Durand's body. Now cold, he reciprocated, attempting to get the heat back. He grabbed the other man's back with both his hands and drew him close, thrusting his tongue into Maximilien's mouth, all of which rekindled a fire in Durand's loins.

He felt a sharp tug on the back of his scalp as Maximilien interrupted by pulling on his ponytail, and withdrew. 

"What?" Durand sounded peevish.

"You taste like beer." 

Durand wiped his mouth, and sighed. "Oh, come on, don't tell me you didn't know I was drinking! I told you already!"

Stone-faced, the other man did not look amused. "I know that, it just tastes disgusting. Can't you drink wine like a civilized gentleman?"

"Well, there are other things I can do with my mouth."

While he liked to think that the alcohol and a wish to see Robespierre's resulting expression fueled the retort, Durand started to doubt himself. The heat they were generating felt good, and it kept his mind off of Lia. Durand decided to kiss again, and even with his initial reprimand, Maximilien responded to this development with passion. Durand found himself pushed back on the mattress, blonde hair tickling his face, fingers digging into his shoulders. He moved his hands behind Robespierre's head, down the neck, around his back. Durand kicked off his boots, untucked the other man's shirt, and began exploring the taut skin around Maximilien's chest. 

Taking advantage of a moment when his mouth was not occupied, Robespierre whispered huskily into Durand's ear. "I'm warming up a bit, now."

Reaching between their legs, Durand traced a path around Maximilien's erection. "I could tell." 

Encouraged by Durand's roving hands, Maximilien tugged at the cravat below him, hastily attempting to loosen the fabric encircling Durand's neck. The delicate fabric couldn't hold up to the anxious yanks and ripped, exposing part of Durand's neck.

Robespierre darted in with the intent to start his studies of Durand's body, until he remembered an overcoat and layers of clothing lay between him and his target. Groaning, he started with the buttons on the vest until Durand finally managed to catch on and pushed his exasperated companion off. 

Durand sat on the side of the bed and shrugged off his jacket lazily, smirking at Robespierre's impatience. The man looked ready to bite his knuckles. 

"It's not as if you go to bed wearing those things, anyway."

Durand grinned and replied, "I don't wear anything when I sleep." Again with wanting to see Maximilien's reaction! At this point, the adrenaline and alcohol didn't leave room for anything but the truth anyway. 

He started unbuttoning his vest, and felt the bed shake as Maximilien sat behind and reached around with both arms to start groping at the lacings on Durand's pants. 

"You already destroyed my cravat, I'm not sure I trust you the rest of my attire."

"Then why aren't you stopping me?" The way Maximilien murmured this into Durand's ear made him painfully aware of his own hardness; as soon as he finished removing his vest, he leaned back onto Robespierre and moved his head back to return to the kissing. 

With Durand in his arms, Maximilien slid one hand under the shirt and ran his fingers across the contours of Durand's muscles. His other hand moved to Durand's right thigh, lightly brushing up and down, inwards, and back out again. Durand broke the kiss to catch up on breathing now, only to have Robespierre grab Durand's chin and move him back towards his own waiting mouth. Abandoning the chest to maintain the kiss, Robespierre let his other hand wander back up towards the other man's waistband. He guided it down between hair and fabric, and encountered something that caused Durand to moan.

Encouraged by this reaction, Maximilien quickly disengaged himself from Durand's mouth, pulled his hand out and spit onto it. He immediately resumed what he was doing, and wrapped his now-wet fingers around his partner's cock. Holding the warm flesh in his hand, Robespierre began moving his grasp up and down over the stiff shaft. 

For what seemed like an eternity to Durand, the only things he could make out were the crackle of the fireplace, his own heavy breathing, and the building pressure in his dick. By now, Maximilien had unlaced his pants to allow for more mobility. Also at the rate things were going, he didn't want the garments in the way to make a mess. 

Robespierre took another pause and whispered again into Durand's ear. "I like to think of myself as one of the selfless nobles Cicero writes about...what I'm doing right now is rather selfless." 

Durand mumbled back a reply, but it was unintelligible. Maximilien made a sound that could have been a laugh, though at this point Durand was no longer able to discern much of what was going on. The stroking had increased in speed, and Robespierre's other hand had begun roving over Durand's chest again, even groping at his nipples. 

Finally, throwing his head back and cursing his companion, Durand climaxed and came into Maximilien's hand, covering it and his own stomach with telltale evidence of this particular reading lesson.

Heart pounding, all Durand could do at the moment was breath and lie back in the other man's now-warm embrace.

"Well, that's one way to respond to Cicero's beliefs." Maximilien moved a bit, and reached to grab his handkerchief to clean up the mess. "Thanks for sweating all over me," he remarked sarcastically, lying back down. 

"I apologize for the fact that I'm not a book." Durand pulled his pants back up and rolled onto his stomach on the other side of the bed. Propping himself up on his hands, he said, "And you're the one who was berating me for not keeping 'professional' in this job."

Robespierre appeared to roll his eyes at this. Another thing Durand had never seen that man do, but everything happening tonight was so strange that Durand just accepted it at this point.

"I'm simply helping you understand the significance of the enlightened thinkers in our world today."

Durand snorted. "Well, you enlightened me in one way. It doesn't seem fair that I can't teach you anything." He sat up and leaned over Robespierre, catching Robespierre off-guard.

"Stop that! I finally warmed up!" Robespierre tried to keep on his shirt as the other man unbuttoned it. 

"I'm not sure you did, Maximilien. I'm fine with my shirt off." Durand had finished with the fastenings and exposed his companion's pale skin to the air. "It probably has my sweat on it anyway, and you don't want to wear that, do you?" Robespierre scowled and propped himself up against the headboard. Durand continued. "I mean, I'm a selfless man too. You haven't gotten off yet." He sat over Maximilien's body and began trailing kisses on his neck, eventually trailing down to the collarbone. He brought his hands around his colleague's lithe frame and began drawing his fingers through Maximilien's hair. "I'm also not tired enough to go to sleep."

Durand's probing lips came across a nipple, which he gauged to be sensitive based on the breathing he elicited from Robespierre. He found the second half of the pair, and lightly bit that. He paused and looked up, finding Maximilien biting his lip with his eyes closed. Assured he was doing something right, Durand lowered his head and began trailing downwards. A wispy trail of fine light-colored hair greeted him under the navel, and continued into the waistband. Durand moved his hands to Maximilien's hips and let his tongue follow the path of hair. 

Durand felt surprise when he noticed that Robespierre was shaking. It probably wasn't the cold. This encouraged him to go further, digging his fingers into the small of Maximilien's back and moving his mouth across the thin layer of fabric which concealed the other man's rigid excitement. 

Robespierre writhed against all this stimulation, but remained silent aside from heavy breathing. Durand rather enjoyed tormenting the intellectual this way-it kept him quiet about dead Romans, for starters. Durand finally pulled down the leggings far enough to reveal the erect cock, and began licking it. 

He closed his lips around the head and savored Maximilien's primal scent-an earthy musk that couldn't be covered with lavender soap. Durand then took the entire length into his mouth until it reached his throat, and relished as the other man cried out. Having now caused Robespierre to make a sound, Durand moved his mouth up and down over the cock and stroked the shaft with one of his hands. 

As soon as he progressed, he felt a weight on the back of his head where Maximilien had placed a hand. Maximilien undid Durand's ponytail and his hair fell around his face, yet he continued working the slight man to ecstasy. He sustained this pace, increasing the tempo, until at last Robespierre roughly pushed Durand's head down and came, spurting viscous hot liquid into his mouth. 

Robespierre dropped back onto the pillows and heaved for air. Durand, meanwhile, found his own clean handkerchief and wiped around his mouth. He moved next to his colleague, and stared back at the ceiling. They both lay there, each lost in their own thoughts for a moment.

"So...where did you learn to do that?" Maximilien drolly asked, taking the square of cloth from his partner and using it to wipe off any excess saliva. 

Durand sighed. "Well...Lia has picked up some fairly strange ideas and acquaintances from her travels. To be honest--"

"Goddammit, we're supposed to meet Lia!" Robespierre quickly cut him off, and started buttoning back up his shirt. "What time is Lia supposed to come back? Weren't we leaving early this morning once she returned?" Robespierre rolled off the mattress and knocked open the settee drawer, fumbling through it until he held up his pocketwatch. "It's 5:07 now..."

Durand's stomach dropped. "She was going to meet us outside at 5:00..."



Lia de Beaumont paced around impatiently under the inn's sign. She'd been waiting for fifteen minutes, and both of her colleagues were missing. She tapped her toes, hoping that the palace guards she knocked out on her way back hadn't been found yet. 

"Ah, how'd it go?" Her lover Durand stepped out from the alleyway, with the final member of the trio following close behind. 

"I'll tell you later. Let's go." Lia turned on her heels and started running, lost in confusion. Being fifteen minutes late wasn't strange, but a ripped cravat most certainly was.