"My mother is planning a ball for us," Marcel said, still looking tired and drawn. "For after the wedding ceremony, not a large one, but something to celebrate the occasion. I am, after all, her only child." He hadn't smiled once since he'd been there, Gilbert realized. It was actually painful to think about, since Marcel usually smiled so easily. Gilbert wanted … He didn't know what he wanted to do. Perhaps reach out and comfort Marcel somehow, but he knew better than that and kept his hands to himself.
"A ball sounds appropriate. I'll make sure any arrangements on the part of the royal family are handled." He was dreading it, actually, although he should have expected a party of some sort. The last thing in the world he wanted right now was dozens of well-meaning nobles congratulating him on marriage that had been nothing but a disaster.
For a moment, Marcel hesitated, and Gilbert thought he was going to say something else, but he just nodded and stood. "My thanks. Now, if you do not have anything else to discuss, I'll take my leave for tonight."
"No." Gilbert shook his head, hating Marcel's formality, hating it more than he had words for. Finding out Tristan had been sleeping with others, had never truly cared, had been less painful than this, less awful than the distance between him and Marcel. "I hope the rest of your night is good and you sleep well, and I will see you again soon."
Marcel was watching him carefully and seemed to come to a decision. He crossed around the desk to stand in front of Gilbert, bending forward. Marcel's long fingered hand settled on Gilbert's shoulders, squeezing gently. "Don't worry so," Marcel said, voice soft and so very kind. "Things will get better, I promise you."
They were close, Gilbert was excruciatingly aware of the feeling Marcel's hand on his shoulder, how the way Marcel bent over him brought their faces closer together. If he wanted to, he could have reached out and touched Marcel, put his hands on Marcel's waist to run them up his chest, but they remained locked on the handles of his chair instead.
Gilbert licked his lips, throat fall far too dry, and raised his gaze to meet Marcel's own. "I hope so, I really do."
I hate this, I miss you so much.
He watched Marcel's eyes widen and then darken, for a heart-stopping moment Gilbert thought Marcel was going to close the space between them and take Gilbert's lips with his own. Time seemed to freeze while Gilbert's heart hammered frantically in his chest and breathing became in impossible feat. His gaze dropped down to Marcel's lips, soft and full and if Gilbert remembered correctly very demanding …
"Goodnight, Berti." Marcel straightened up and let his hand fall from Gilbert's shoulder, turning towards the doorway.
It took him a long time after the door had closed behind Marcel for him to get his breathing back under control and his thoughts back into some semblance of order.
Even after his pulse had settled, the only thing Gilbert could think about was that he was in very deep trouble indeed.
*~*~*
It was finally summer. Gilbert could feel the warmth of the sun on his face, could feel the slight breeze ruffling through his hair and making a faint sound in the leaves above him. All around, he could hear the hum of insects and the call of birds. Gilbert lay on his back in the grass, eyes closed, and let himself enjoy it.
It had been winter for so long, after all.
"Gilbert …"
Someone was calling his name, but through the haze of contentment he couldn't be bothered to figure out who it was or even open his eyes.
"Gilbert." Lips touched his, soft, warm and sweet. He opened his mouth a little bit to accept the kiss and deepen it. Another body stretched out along his back. A hand worked its way under his shirt to touch his chest and stomach. He turned his head for another kiss and got one, long, lazy, and thorough. The hand that been tracing gentle circles against his chest slid down to cup him through his breeches, and a thigh slid between his own, easing his legs a little bit further apart.
"Taking a nap, love?"
"I was trying to," Gilbert murmured between kisses. He felt more than heard the laugh muffled against his lips as the fingers that had been cupping him undid he front breaches …
Gilbert woke slowly, warm wrapped in a cocoon of blankets, cock aching and body feeling alive and sensitive with arousal. His fingers wrapped around his cock, stroking slowly, enjoying the slow pleasure too much to end it all quickly. He'd been having a nice dream …
Gilbert sat up, thrashing out from under the blankets as panic overtook his sense of sleepy comfort.
Again. He'd had one of the dreams again.
He let himself fall back onto the bed and covered his face with his hands. He never used to have many dreams of a carnal nature, but over the last few weeks it had become all too common.
And far too often the dreams involved Marcel, like tonight. Gilbert could remember the way Marcel's body had fit against his own, the feel of Marcel's hand cupping his cock, Marcel's lips …
Fuck!
He wished, how he wished, that these dreams would simply go away. He had never thought of Marcel thus, never desired him as anything more than a friend awake or asleep until the Christmas ball. Since then, the dreams would not leave him alone. Barely a night had gone by when he had not woken sticky with his own seed and with Marcel's name on his lips.
What made it worse was that Marcel's love for him was so pure. Yes, Marcel desired him, but he'd also gone on for years shielding Gilbert from his feelings—at great cost to his own emotional state, no doubt. He would have continued to do so forever if not for their marriage. Even his apologies for the kiss they had shared had been so heartfelt, showed such deep concern for Gilbert's wellbeing without any thought for himself and the desires he must have. Gilbert had rejected him over and over, acted as though marrying him was the worst fate possible, in front of others, even. And through it all Marcel had only ever been kind, gentle, and yes, loving. And Gilbert …
He covered his face with both his hands, shaking all over now. What did Gilbert have to show for himself? Certainly not years of sacrificing his own feelings for Marcel's happiness. No, Gilbert had a few nights of desire-filled dreams that left him with no idea where he stood in regards to his feelings for Marcel.
His cock had thankfully flagged under the weight of his anxiety. When he turned over, trying to put thoughts of Marcel out of his mind completely, images from his dream flooded in again. Being held like that, touched … His cock perked back up immediately.
Gilbert willed himself to relax and for his passions to fade. He would not touch himself and think of Marcel. The line had to be drawn there. To use Marcel's feelings for him for his own cheap pleasures would be a truly despicable thing to do.
His cock slowly softened, passion ebbing, much to Gilbert's relief. Thin, pale light was beginning to make its way underneath the heavy drapes at the window. There would be no more sleep for him, he knew, so Gilbert rose and began setting about getting dressed and preparing himself for the day.
There was only three days until the wedding, and Gilbert was becoming less and less sure he knew what he wanted from this entire mess by the minute.
*~*~*
It should have been a happy day, for both of them. At least that was what Marcel kept thinking. The marquise had insisted on him and Gilbert having breakfast together before they went to get ready for the ceremony.
Gilbert sat at the other end of the table, staring down at delicate china cup of coffee in front of him. They were eating in a small sunroom, since both Marcel and the marquise had spent the night at the palace to prepare for the day's festivities.
"So you've started the moving process?"
Gilbert looked up, seemingly started out of his thoughts by the question. "I … Yes, it's been going slowly. So much of the things from my laboratories are fragile and need to be transported with care, but I hope to set up permanent residence at the estate within the week."
"Oh." He hadn't been expecting Gilbert to move out of the capital so soon. It would be still be a few weeks yet before Marcel would be able to leave, although maybe that was for the best. Watching Gilbert pick at a croissant, he thought perhaps some time apart was what they needed. Over the last few days, Gilbert seemed even more tense than he was the night he'd apologized to Marcel. Maybe it was the wedding—Marcel just hoped he hadn't done something wrong.
"Are you all right?" He asked just to make sure.
Gilbert looked up at him, expression surprised. "What? Yes, yes, I'm fine."
"Are you sure? Because you've seemed preoccupied these last few days. Are you sleeping all right?" Marcel watched him carefully, trying to gage if Gilbert was telling him the truth or lying again.
Gilbert flushed bright red and looked away. "I'm fine, it's just the wedding and the move. In a few weeks when things quiet down I'll be back to normal."
He was lying again, but Marcel could not figure out about what.
"I should go, I believe the tailor wanted one last fitting." Gilbert pushed himself away from the table, leaving behind his untouched food and almost fled the room.
Marcel watched him leave and reached for his coffee with a frown. He'd hoped that after they'd had their talk about the Christmas ball and what had been said and done there Gilbert might be a little bit more at ease. Now he seemed even more uncomfortable. He hadn't eaten, had barely spoken the entire meal, and only looked Marcel in the eye once. Had something happened? Had someone done or said something to Gilbert?
Or was this about the kiss? Marcel swallowed hard, finding it suddenly difficult to get a good lungful of air. When they'd spoke of the Christmas ball, Gilbert hadn't brought it up, had not referenced it even once … But it was the only thing Marcel could think of, the only thing he'd done. He should not have done it at all, should not have forced physical intimacy of any kind no matter how small on Gilbert like that. Was Gilbert worried about what else Marcel might force on him now?
No.
Marcel pushed away his empty coffee cup as if the physical act would reject such thoughts. He had no reason to believe Gilbert was afraid of him. Gilbert had not said or done anything to indicate that.
But how would you know?
the treacherous voice at the back of his mind asked.
He's been avoiding you ever since the ball, takes every opportunity to stay away from you, cannot even bear to be in the same room long enough to share a simple meal.
Marcel's stomach turned over, and for a moment he thought he might be ill. Putting his hands flat on the table, Marcel concentrated on taking deep breaths until he calmed a little. He shouldn't be jumping to conclusions like this, but still, he should definitely try to give Gilbert some space. Maybe he should even stay in Challant until or if Gilbert sent word for Marcel to join him.
Standing from the table, Marcel headed for his own rooms to begin getting ready.
The ceremony was brief; Gilbert was the youngest son and the last of his siblings to marry. Marcel's own mother was not overly fond of court pomp, so Marcel had never expected an elaborate wedding.
Gilbert knelt beside Marcel during the prayer, in royal white while Marcel's own jacket had been embroidered with the roses of Mont de la Anges. Out of the corner of his eye, Marcel watched Gilbert, noting the lines around Gilbert's mouth and the dark circles under his eyes that hinted he wasn't sleeping well. Marcel kept himself from balling his hands into fists, but only just. He prayed he wasn't the reason that Gilbert was losing sleep, but the sinking feeling in his stomach told him he might well be.
Space. Marcel tried to the concentrated on the front of the chapel again. They needed space.
The bishop ended the prayer, and Gilbert stood and moved to the front of the room where the marriage contract waited for them to both to sign and be witnessed by all those present. Marcel stood as well, waiting at Gilbert's shoulder for him to finish signing. He didn't miss how careful Gilbert was to make sure their hands did not touch as he handed over the pen.
The rest of the ceremony passed as a blur. He was aware of Henri-André shaking his hand, the marquise kissing him on the cheek, and Gilbert's siblings began making their way to the front of the chapel to congratulate them. Marcel was so aware of Gilbert's presence close beside him, and he wanted to reach out, touch Gilbert's shoulder or squeeze his hand.
Charlotte clapped him on the shoulder and Marcel forced a smile for her, shoulder brushing against Gilbert's for a moment before Gilbert pulled away. Marcel missed his presence immediately.
"Congratulations!" Henrietta squeezed his hands, beaming up at him.
Gilbert had moved away from them, and Marcel's gaze followed him as he worked his way through the crowd. He wanted to go after him, but stayed where he was, turning his attention back to Henrietta. "Thank you."
Space,
he told himself,
give him space.
His hands were shaken by a few more people Marcel vaguely recognized as extended family on his father's side before he managed to make his excuses to his mother and flee to his rooms to get ready for the ball.
Once in the safety of his rooms, he stripped down to his shirtsleeves and unbuttoned his shirt so he could unstrap the arm he was wearing. Setting that aside, he walked across the room and poured himself a glass of wine as fortification for the party ahead. He downed half of it and stared up at the ceiling, feeling the beginning of a headache coming on.
His wedding day.
Marcel wasn't sure if he wanted to laugh or cry.
A knock came at the door, making Marcel's look round in surprise. "Yes, who is it?"
"Gilbert, may I come in?"
"Of course." Marcel moved across the room as Gilbert pushed the door open. Then Gilbert's gaze went to the open front of Marcel's shirt and the strip of bare skin it revealed, and he colored slightly.
"I … I'll come back."
"No," Marcel said quickly, closing his shirt with one hand. "I mean, you don't have to leave on my account."