It happens on a warmish day in March, when the snow still litters the ground, but it isn't nearly cold enough out in the bare elements to be fearful of frostbite. The trees are void of it - instead, glowing a healthy green and catching the light of the sun like emeralds.
They aren't very far from Villeneuve - a forty minute walk into the woods, perhaps - and they haven't any plans. LeFou trails to the left, and Gaston to his right, on a post-church Sunday morning walk.
“It's good to get out and stretch these weary muscles, isn't it, LeFou?”
Gaston yawns, stopping in a patch of sunlight to stretch his arms and crack his back. He looks up into the sky, hand to his forehead to shield his eyes.
“It might be a perfectly serviceable day for quail,” he pats the strap of his bow’s scabbard, smiling over at his friend.
LeFou closes his eyes and absorbs the warmth from the sky. “Mm,” he nods.
Gaston makes a similar thoughtful hum, but it's only when LeFou hears the crunch of the frigid ground beneath his boots that he notices Gaston has wandered further on down the trail. There are lightly-covered footsteps in the snow, leading away from where the two have come.
“This is new,” Gaston calls. “Someone's living out here?”
And indeed there is a tented area - a makeshift living quarters protected with undyed linen and shrubbery. LeFou moves to catch up to Gaston; gets close enough to examine the fort in more detail: the linens supported with thick, golden rope, braided vines used to hold the walls of leaves and flat grass together.
It's impressively well crafted - perhaps given the time, it was replicable, but unnecessary to do so given they could afford proper canvas tents.
“Agathe,” LeFou says then, “I've heard the townspeople say they've seen her out here. Perhaps she moves her home around from time to time.”
Gaston squints, rife with skepticism. For all of the time they'd spent in these woods, they'd yet to encounter the village beggarwoman. With few material possessions to bind her to any given spot, out here, right now, it seems as though she has a fairly good thing going. The sun gives the area warmth at this time of day, and they can see an established fire pit nearby. There are tree stumps and wooden boards used for seating and shelving respectively, and several blankets - albeit soiled - laid out for bedding.
“Must be peaceful out here,” LeFou says idly, “away from the prying eyes of Villeneuve.”
“Well she begs for hours outside of the church on Sundays,” Gaston muses, heading in under the fabric flaps towards Agathe’s knicknacks and foodstuffs. “We might as well see what the old girl’s up to out here.”
LeFou opens his mouth to protest, but Gaston is already inside the tent, having to duck to fit but not complaining. LeFou tsks; takes a few steps forward to peep around for himself.
“I really don't think we ought to poke around here,” he manages belatedly.
“Nonsense!” Gaston cheers, “It isn't like we're going to steal anything. Old hag doesn't have anything to steal.”
It's true - there isn't much of valuable interest in the place. Much of what Agathe has are jarred herbs and spices; a rusted cooking pot, a small jar of jam. White feathers litter the area, inside the tent as well as out.
And then, along the ground towards the back of the tent are several glass jars - each intricately designed and vintage-looking; perhaps even foreign. But even stranger than the strange glass jars is that each one is individually labelled and holds unique floral specimens. Some flowers LeFou recognises, while others are odd and new.
LeFou grins in surprise, raising an eyebrow. “Who knew Agathe had a penchant for horticulture?”
“How someone so hideous can appreciate such beauty is beyond me,” Gaston scoffs.
He plucks one of the foreign-looking flowers from its jar for examination: a stem similar to that of a rose, with sappy thorns and horned leaves. Its petals are a pinkish orange colour, small but many, with tiny bumps on most of them. Pretty still, despite its oddness.
Gaston extends the flower to LeFou, “Pour toi.”
“Put it back,” LeFou chuckles, reaching out lazily to grab at it. Before his fingertips are even able to brush the petals, however, Gaston hisses and recoils, the flower falling to the ground.
“Shit!” He winces, face screwed up in shock.
LeFou is taken aback. “Oh come on, I find it hard to believe that the great, mighty Gaston was hurt by flower.”
Gaston holds his hand up, eyeing the pin-prick of blood pooling on his thumb; smears it between his thumb and index fingers, and it’s sticky - the blood and the residual sap from the flower’s thorns. He sucks it away, only for another bead of crimson blood to form.
“More shocking than it was painful, I suppose,” huffs Gaston, wearing a scowl now, and it’s evident to LeFou that their pleasant Sunday stroll has come to an end. “Let’s head back to town.”
He stomps about the tent, around LeFou and overtop Agathe’s blankets, trampling them and getting tangled in them as he moves. He hisses, sneers. When he reaches the trail, he stops and sighs deeply, allowing LeFou to join him and to begin leading them back. They follow their own shallow footsteps back, walking in silence - quiet enough for LeFou to make note of Gaston’s laboured breathing.
He’s about to say something, but doesn’t want Gaston to snap at him; he’s about to offer first aid, but he doesn’t have the means. And it’s just a small cut, besides - surely Gaston is exaggerating the pain.
But then Gaston’s footing falters, and he wavers in place, putting his hand to his temple. He massages his forehead - digs his fingers into his skin and groans - and LeFou can’t help but ask,
“Are you alright?”
Gaston looks positively sour when he turns to face his friend, eyes lingering on LeFou’s full, parted lips. It’s as though all of his senses have been amplified, aware of the soft flutter of LeFou’s hair; the rustle of his jacket as he moves.
He’s awed - confused as to how a simple prick from a thorn could have affected him so much. His brow is furrowed, leaving unsightly wrinkles between his eyes, skin glistening with a thin layer of sweat. All of his bravado and his legendary strength - his tolerance for pain - doesn’t seem to be helping him cope.
“I feel...unusual. Dizzy, almost,” Gaston looks on in a heavy-lidded daze. “No matter, we’re almost home.” He grins weakly down at LeFou, clasping a hand to his friend’s back, and can’t help but drum his fingertips against it.
“Sounds good,” chirps LeFou, though he doesn’t much believe the man.
They’re a good twenty-some minutes away from the edge of the village; there’s little hope for LeFou being able to carry or drag Gaston if he ends up fainting - and God, it looks like he’s about to. Gaston’s face has grown flushed, pink, glazed with perspiration. His lips look dry - though winter could very much be to blame for that. He isn’t holding himself high - doesn’t square his shoulders or set his jaw like he typically does when he walks.
It’s rather unsettling, seeing the sharp decline in Gaston’s character, when not thirty minutes ago he was loud and spritely.
They only make it another five minutes in the direction they’re headed before Gaston coughs - gags, even - and half collapses. He grabs at LeFou desperately, though LeFou is not nearly strong enough to hold him up with such short notice - “Gast--!” - and they both tumble down onto the snow-laden dirt.
“Gaston! Wh- are you okay!?” He’s immediately on his knees, patting Gaston’s cheek, raising the back of his hand to Gaston’s forehead. “You’re hot--”
LeFou clings to Gaston; a hand to his chest for support as he wiggles his way underneath Gaston’s left arm to lift him back up. Gaston’s chest is like fire - with Gaston’s jacket unbuttoned, LeFou can feel the heat through his blouse and waistcoat. Gaston’s taking deep breaths, steady - the way LeFou has always coached him. Through the coughing and sniffling, Gaston’s also whining; whimpering. He buries his face into LeFou’s neck, sniffing at him; darting his tongue across his lips.
“You smell amazing,” he murmurs.
Surprised by his friend’s sudden ailment - to say nothing of the compliment - LeFou chuckles nervously. Quivering in his attempt to support them both through the laughter. “I’m not sure now’s the time, Gaston. Up you go.”
They’re both to their feet soon enough, LeFou cooing, “That’s right, easy does it,” helping Gaston to take the first step forward.
They do manage to walk a bit farther - seven minutes or so - but it’s difficult. Gaston is near delirious, keeping his head bowed against LeFou’s shoulder, LeFou’s neck, muttering unintelligible nothings that are occasionally all too personal. Things that under any other circumstance, LeFou would swoon to hear. Gaston’s fingers - hot to the touch - knead against LeFou’s coat, clutching at his sleeves.
“You feel so good against me,” he purrs.
“Let’s focus, hm?”
“Do you have any idea what I want to do with you right now?” Gaston leans harder against LeFou, holding more tightly now to his arm.
“We’re almost to town, we’ll get you fixed up.”
“I need you.”
LeFou’s legs buckle and he nearly trips; doesn’t know if it’s because he can’t see the stones and roots along the path due to the snow, or if it’s literally because of the words he’s always wanted to hear. His mouth seems suddenly dry.
His heart seems suddenly wrangled.
Gaston feels wonderful against him, too. There isn’t anything unusual about their proximity: LeFou has supported Gaston many a night after drinks at the tavern; they’ve been almost intimately close before. This certainly feels different, however, like it’s on another level and completely over LeFou’s head.
Six minutes from the edge of the village now, so close--
The wind picks up; the rustling of the leaves combined with Gaston mumbling in his ear too loud, and LeFou holds his hat on his head with his free hand to distract himself from it all.
They see Agathe on the way - rather, LeFou does; Gaston isn’t paying attention to much other than the way LeFou’s stubble brushes against his cheek, and the surprising amount of muscle in his upper arm - as she walks opposite them towards her living area. She stops dead as they pass: her starting at LeFou, and LeFou staring back at her. Her eyes are wide and glistening; she’s got a haughty expression on her.
LeFou curses her inwardly - but knowing full well that it was Gaston’s own fault for being intrusive, he sighs and continues on, huffing under Gaston’s weight. He's starting to work up a sweat; can't wait to get Gaston home and into bed.
He should call for a doctor, he supposes. Gaston fell ill when he was pricked by the flower - and LeFou doesn't know anything about poisonous flowers that aren't native to France.
“S-stop, stop,” Gaston says finally - clearly and with alpha dog confidence - and LeFou doesn’t have it in him to talk back. He pushes himself away from LeFou, staggers backwards but doesn’t fall - just teeters in place. His head hangs down, but LeFou can see his eyes staring - brilliantly blue and glossy and half-open with--
Gaston isn’t thinking right - sees the worried look on LeFou’s face and doesn’t care. He contemplates the short amount of time it would take for him to grab LeFou; to throw him to the ground and pin him down.
He hasn’t any self control, he’s on him in a split-second move that has LeFou pinned against a tree, held with one of Gaston’s large, strong hands pressed to the smaller man’s chest, and the other just above his head against the tree trunk. He looms over LeFou, and it feels malicious; frightening.
He gnaws at his lower lip as their eyes lock.
“LeFou…” he growls, and Christ - it’s everything LeFou’s ever wanted, just to hear his name sound that way.
He’s got to be dreaming.
“We’re so close to home,” LeFou tries, “so let’s just get you into bed. What’s gotten into you?”
Maybe he’s caught Gaston’s fever - it couldn’t be real, could it? Gaston grinding against him, pressing LeFou harder into the tree; mouthing and suckling at his neck; dragging his tongue across the stubble on his chin.
LeFou doesn’t know what to do with himself. He shivers; needs to get Gaston home, because this isn’t right - this isn’t like Gaston - but, wow does it feel amazing when those hands slide down his body, grabbing at his hips, thumbs hooking under the waistband of his breeches--
“You’d go down on your knees if I said it would help, wouldn’t you, LeFou?”
Gaston flinches through his words, and LeFou whispers, “Oh, God,” eyes slipping closed before he can muster the brainpower to do what’s right and wriggles away from Gaston.
“We-we’re so close to town--! We just passed Agathe, and others could come by-- What are you doing !?”
Gaston shuts LeFou up with a fierce kiss that short circuits his brain.
Gaston’s tongue flicks against LeFou’s teeth; makes its way past them and deep inside. But it isn’t sweet: it’s forceful and intimidating and all too public.
He makes a decision then and there to get his friend home and safe, grabbing hold of Gaston’s waistcoat and pushing with all his might to send Gaston stumbling backwards. He tenses, vision blurring, and growls.
“I am in pain !” he spits. “I need this!”
“Are you even listening to yourself!?” LeFou shouts, despite his voice trembling. “We need to get you home and in bed.”
It’s a standoff, then, Gaston puffing himself up, glaring, but LeFou holding his ground as well. It seems as though they’re like this for several minutes; LeFou wondering if he should just give in and let Gaston have him the way he thinks Gaston wants to have him.
God, he wants to have him--
But Gaston breaks the silence with an aggressive, “Fine!” and grabs LeFou firmly by the wrist; hauls him through the snow behind him towards the village.
LeFou sputters; loses his footing and runs to keep up with the man as much as to prevent his arm being torn from its socket. With Gaston’s long, determined strides, they reach the edge of Villeneuve in little time, and their destination is mercifully near there - Gaston enjoying the solitude as well as the proximity to his hunting grounds.
They make it to the front door with only minor interruptions - the young girl from a neighbouring farm greeting them with a simple “Good day,” her even younger brother standing tall to give Gaston a salute; and an acquaintance from the tavern asking about the state the ex-Captain is in.
“He's not well,” stammers LeFou, “but nothing a nap won't fix, if you'll excuse us.”
Gaston fumbles for his house key, drops it and slouches against LeFou when he tries to pick it up. LeFou bends, grabs it with an annoyed hiss and unlocks the door, and Gaston stares absently; leads him inside, shrugging his coat off his shoulders and onto the coat rack as he enters.
He tugs at the collar of his blouse to loosen the tie at his neck; runs a hand through his hair.
“I feel like-- like I'm going to die,” Gaston pants, turning to his friend with that same dangerous, lustful expression from earlier. “All I can see when I close my eyes is you in my lap...riding me like it’s your profession. I need it-- I need--”
His cheeks are a soft pink, and the tip of his nose a more brilliant red - he looks about to pass out. LeFou rushes to his side to check his eyes, his fingers pry open those heavy eyelids to better reveal Gaston's dilated pupils. He checks Gaston's pulse and the man moans into the contact.
It’s almost too much to handle, LeFou has to tip his head back and shut his eyes. He wills himself not to believe those words, pouting as he says sternly, “If you think you can make it to bed, get going. I'll go call for a doctor.”
“I don't need a doctor,” Gaston groans as he advances again, “I need you.”
LeFou scoffs, dodging a kiss and grabbing Gaston's hand. The man's fingers twitch involuntarily, and beneath the stain of blood there's an obvious infection brewing - he can feel the heat of it.
“It's that plant, whatever it is, it's got you a bit…funny. I've never heard of such an ailment…”
Again, Gaston moves to grab LeFou's wrist, but LeFou slaps his hand away; pushes him back with such force that Gaston falls to the floor, reeling in shock. He coughs and wheezes and sniffles, and LeFou can't help but think he looks rather pathetic - a complete opposite of the man he's known and admired for years.
“Let me at least get a washcloth to cool the fever, you stubborn ass.”
He's even got tears in his eyes.
“Help me, please,” he whines, “I-- I feel like I'm on fire. I don't want anyone else to see me like this.”
And that's the breaking point.
Stopping Gaston from getting his way when he’s this insistent is futile. LeFou can feel it, the barriers breaking down; his desire to give in, to give the man he loves whatever he wants, to feed into him until Gaston's done with him and satisfied. He imagines that when the fever has passed, Gaston will be revolted with what they’ve done and cast LeFou aside.
“God, LeFou, please.”
Maybe even commit him.
“Don't leave me alone. I want you so fucking much...here, between my legs.”
He's sprawled out on the floor, just the way LeFou pushed him down. He didn't want to believe it before - had ignored the stiffness rubbing against him when Gaston had made his first advancement in the woods - but staring down at him now, there's little ignoring the bulge at the front of his pants; needy and unyielding. Gaston rubs a hand over himself, squeezing his aching cock through his clothing.
LeFou gulps and Gaston breathes heavily, looking drunkenly up into LeFou's serious dead stare.
“What...What exactly do you propose we do?”
And then it's like the spell of weakness is broken, and a wicked grin breaks out across Gaston's face.
“I need you inside of me,” he moans. “You can choose the hole.”
LeFou feels weak; he's certain he's caught whatever strange affliction Gaston has been blessed with, because he’s feeling hot too - his legs are like pudding and, oh Lord, did Gaston say he wants LeFou inside of him ?
It isn't how he's always fantasised it would be. It's encouraged by an unusual illness, rather than Gaston's own free will; it isn't even LeFou’s preference, sexually. A better man would maybe just laugh - turn Gaston down flat and go for help - but LeFou just can't help himself; not when Gaston is presenting himself to him, begging to be fucked without shame.
“O-okay,” LeFou wets his lips. He feels clammy all over - not quite as boiling hot as Gaston, but he's sure that he's at least blushing. “Of c-course, Gaston…”
There’s the light sheen of sweat on his hands as he reaches down with the intent of hauling Gaston to his feet, but Gaston tugs him down to the floorboards instead, landing on his knees atop the man's abdomen.
“I want you right here, right now--”
And then Gaston's fiery, pink lips are on LeFou’s for the second time that day, frantic and desperate, lapping sloppily against LeFou's disgusted grunts. He fumbles to clutch at LeFou's blouse, his cravat, his hair - anything he can get his sweaty hands on. His jacket gets removed along the way--
“Mmph,” Gaston moans, “mm’yes, come closer.”
He bucks up against LeFou's backside; the tent in his pants a firm reminder of what's taking place - how insane this all is - and LeFou doesn’t thinking there's any point in denying that he had been half hard and ready for it since the kiss in the woods. Gaston’s fingers work their way up to LeFou’s mouth; pushes them past LeFou’s gawking lips and runs them along the flat of his tongue. His cock twitches; throbs.
“Oh God, Gaston,” he chokes out around the man’s knuckles.
They spend a hot minute rutting against each other through their clothing, LeFou perfectly at home in his friend’s lap, gasping into the air as Gaston wipes his wet fingers down LeFou’s chin and the front of his top.
Gaston sits up to bury his face into the crux of LeFou’s neck and nibbles at him. “You're so lucky, LeFou,” he chortles.
He is, LeFou agrees one hundred percent, he's so, so lucky--
“I am, hm?”
“Don't think that I haven't caught you staring now and again,” sucking, biting, moaning into LeFou's neck as he speaks and humps up into him. “You're enamoured with me...and who could blame you?”
Gaston's smirk is downright devilish, and he laughs drunkenly like a man possessed.
“Come on” - but he's sounding desperate now - “you want to, don't you?”
For LeFou's part, he's beginning to feel rather taken advantage of, wonders if Gaston really has been onto him or if it's just the fever talking; wonders how often he's allowed himself to be manipulated in the case of the former. It's too bad that by now he's letting his cock think for him…
“You smell so good,” Gaston moans; runs the flat of his tongue along LeFou's neck, up to his earlobe. “You're amazing, the only person I trust,” he snickers, “I need you inside of me--”
“Is this how you flatter your women?” LeFou rocks his hips, smiling coyly at the reaction it earns him, “I'm not sure I can believe anything you say right now. You're delirious.”
The sweat on Gaston's brow runs down the side of his face; drips from his nose. It's unusually erotic: every pathetic thrust and whimper and laugh gets LeFou's heart racing, his cock twitching painfully against Gaston's rock hard abdominals.
“Mm, wouldn't you like to strip me down?”
“I'm aching for it, for you to touch me, I'll do anything, just-- fuck me--!”
With trembling hands, LeFou unfastens the buttons of his friend's cardinal waistcoat, pushing it gently off the man's broad shoulders when it's completely undone and Gaston has shifted his weight to allow himself to be undressed.
Gaston throws his head back - “h’ah” - panting into the air. His cock probes at LeFou's backside as he leans forward to kiss Gaston's damp forehead and completely untie the drawstring of the man's blouse. Gaston lifts his arms to let LeFou pull the top up over his head.
“Shit--” LeFou swears softly under his breath.
He's seen Gaston topless - naked even - dozens of times in the past, but it doesn't lessen the impact of just how perfect a specimen of masculinity he is.
He's breathtaking - finely chiseled pectorals covered with goosebumps, nipples pert and pink. LeFou observes every quiver under his delicately tanned skin, memorizes the broadness of his collarbone, the light trail of hair that leads down to that rigid curve of flesh constrained between Gaston’s legs.
“Now you,” Gaston groans, “I want to see you.” He can feel the sickness spreading within him, making his blood boil, spiraling inside of him, winding down to his gut. Making him crazy. His inhibitions are long since gone.
“Please,” he murmurs, “please.”
LeFou unbuttons his own waistcoat, then; stretches to remove it and his blouse along with it in one practiced motion. His free flowing curls bounce around his cheeks as the top slips up around his head and falls silently onto the floor, and Gaston is leaning up, pressing his nose against LeFou’s chest and growling; shaking; breathing in the scent of his skin. Grabbing at LeFou’s hair and breathing it in, too.
“Please,” he whimpers in repeat, over and over. He feels like a shell of himself, simply craving debaucherous pleasure and nothing else.
“You’re remarkable, LeFou; completely unique,” his tongue roams over LeFou’s collarbone; sucks hard enough to bruise, and LeFou mewls in response. “Do it. You want it as bad as I do--”
“Gaston,” LeFou smiles softly, a little bit sad, “I do want to fuck you. But, even more than that…” He runs his fingertips down over Gaston’s parted lips slowly, teasingly. “So, yes, for as long as you'll beg me…I’ll use you.”
The words make Gaston reel in delight; shiver. His drunken eyes slip closed and he hums, heart pounding. “Then hurry.”
And then LeFou is wiggling down between Gaston’s legs - an impeccably difficult task when he’s trembling so much, muscles tight and wrought with anxiety, eyes tearing up at the mere thought of what he’s about to do - and he’s unfastening the button fly of Gaston’s pants and the drawstring of his underdrawers.
His cock is erect; girthy. Mouth-wateringly perfect.
He has to touch it; reaches out and just barely grazes his fingertips along the shaft of it and the contact has Gaston moaning loudly, bucking his hips up in a raw attempt for more, whatever contact he can manage. A new wave of burning pleasure washes over him - more intense still, when LeFou closes his hand around his cock and pumps slowly up and down his shaft.
“God, yes ,” he moans. “You look like you belong there-- Beautiful.”
LeFou is almost thankful that Gaston is so vocal, because he’s currently at a loss for words, running on instinct and too far gone to think of anything useful to say to his long time companion. When LeFou grunts, Gaston moans to match it, and when Gaston gasps “more,” LeFou tightens his grip and pumps faster, circling his thumb over the head; playing with the resulting precome beaded at the slit.
But although it’s overwhelmingly plenty for LeFou, Gaston is still whining for more; spreading his legs wider for him.
“More,” he pleads, “I need more.” Hungry for it.
Sucking the fluids from his thumb and forefinger, LeFou nods dreamily. “Of course you do,” he smirks, accommodating himself more comfortably between Gaston’s legs and leans into lap at the underside of the man’s cock.
Gaston lurches forward in ecstasy, “Ohh fuck--! Yes, LeFou--!”
LeFou takes him all in - deep into the back of his throat, slurping around him before closing his mouth tight around him and sucking for everything he’s worth. His eyes flutter closed, concentrating hard, focusing on the musky scent of Gaston; the smell of sweat and stale sex.
“So fucking good at that,” he gasps out, “You’ve had lots of practice--”
Gaston’s hands fly down to comb through LeFou’s hair; he grabs fistfuls of it, steadying the movements of LeFou’s head, slowing him slightly. He opens his mouth so that Gaston can watch his cock slide gracefully in and out, past those wet, plump lips.
“Mmph” - LeFou’s tongue swirls around the tip - “I’m close--”
And then LeFou’s lips are closed tightly around him yet again, and Gaston’s hands are still there, forcing him down and pulling him off, harder, faster, with complete disregard for anything but his own pleasure. Faster and faster--
LeFou’s muffled gags and nasal whines tip Gaston over the edge and then Gaston is spilling hot, salty fluid down LeFou’s throat - he swallows without complaint; leaves Gaston’s cock in the back of his throat until he’s confident it’s over and he lifts his head up, smiles, licking the drool and come from his lips.
Gaston lays back - a mess -sweating even more than before, nearly sobbing. “I need more.”
He’s still hard - painfully so - as though nothing at all has changed. LeFou looks on in awe, touches fingertips featherlight to the rigid length once more and Gaston cries out more loudly, whimpering; body still shaking.
Those featherlight touches turn into firm, strong strokes along Gaston’s shaft, and despite his flinching from oversensitivity, Gaston’s still begging for it. He fondles the man’s balls with his other hand, kneading them, fingers edging further down.
LeFou raises his hand to his lips, then, and licks a stripe up his ring finger. He drools; lets it slide across his tongue and sucks and adds his middle finger as well. It occurs to him that Gaston has likely never indulged in anything quite like this and he gets a bit of a thrill from the thought of testing the waters.
“I’ll be gentle,” LeFou offers, pressing a finger to Gaston’s hole.
Gaston shakes his head and hisses, “Don’t hold back, LeFou.”
Then Gaston’s legs are lifted up and LeFou removes the man’s pants and underdrawers completely, tossing them aside to land upon a chair. He has one knee bent to his chest and the other straight up, ankle hooked over LeFou’s shoulder. It’s a bit awkward, given LeFou’s height and Gaston’s muscular build, but they make it work - Gaston is desperate to make it work.
So LeFou sticks the first tentative finger inside - his middle finger - lubed up with saliva to the third knuckle. The moan that tears out of Gaston’s throat is ungodly loud and blissful. It’s music to LeFou’s ears and it encourages him to press in a second finger almost instantly, and then another, thrusting into him in time with the pumps along Gaston’s shaft.
“More--! Yes--!” Gaston repeats.
“Oh God,” LeFou whispers, “Gaston…”
He doesn’t even have to move his hand: Gaston seems to be an expert at moving his hips just right - fucking himself on LeFou’s slick fingers. Rocking violently back and forth until LeFou’s wrist is sore and he can’t keep up the pace of his handjob. They grunt in unison - LeFou from exertion more so than Gaston - until finally Gaston is begging senselessly, tears stinging in the corners of his eyes and--
LeFou removes his hands completely, leaving the man empty and untouched.
“LeFou ,” Gaston hisses, “Don’t stop.”
The air in the main room seems to be suddenly spread thin, as LeFou is struggling to breathe, but still not quite as wrecked as Gaston, whose entire chest rises dramatically up and down, quivering, panting, laughing up at the ceiling like a madman.
“You're really cruel, LeFou, to stop like that.”
“I don't doubt that you'd play the same game with me,” LeFou snides, “if you'd wanted me as long as I've wanted you.”
LeFou raises to his feet, hands at the drawstring of his fly. His stubby fingers make easy work of it and his breeches slip down over his ample hips, followed by his undergarments. He steps out of them in stockinged feet, kicking the bottoms aside and kneeling yet again atop Gaston's abdomen.
“How can I resist the opportunity,” LeFou purrs, drawing concentric trails through Gaston's damp chest hair.
He spits onto his fingers, wriggling them back and forth against each other to slick them up, using them to lube Gaston's cock to the best of his ability; considers leaving to find some sort of oil or cream suitable for the task, but decides against it, given how the man beneath him is impatient and rearing to go.
He spits again to slick his entrance, arching his back so that Gaston's cock is nestled between the cleft of his cheeks.
“G-Gast-on,” LeFou shudders, and all the while Gaston is babbling beneath him, cursing and moaning and repeating LeFou’s name in an acapella of varying inflections and pitches.
“God,” Gaston chokes out, “Perfect--”
LeFou absorbs the praise; sinks down onto the man's erection, groaning in satisfaction as he does, jaw agape and tongue lolled. Gaston reacts much the same, though he bucks his hips upwards to hurry LeFou along, crying out when he's buried to the hilt. Every part of him is on fire, aching for it.
His eyelids nearly slide shut but he wills himself to watch LeFou bouncing teasingly up and down, grinning down at him with slitted eyes. He's tight and hot and heavenly; really does know exactly how to please a man, Gaston thinks with a hint of jealousy.
His heart is racing, his chest heaving, his hips thrusting-- but it still isn't enough. The pain within him from before now feels like a niggling itch that can't be scratched.
“Harder,” Gaston growls, patience wearing thin. “It isn't enough - harder! Please--!”
LeFou chuckles softly.
“You're so…” he huffs, biting his lower lip before continuing, “...so big…So amazing. Gaston…I hate to say it but I could get used to you like this.”
To his credit, LeFou presses his palms to Gaston's chest for support and does attempt to raise and lower his hips in quicker succession, examining Gaston's face for signs of approval, but there's nothing there except for a dead eye stare and flushed cheeks; the drip of saliva from Gaston's panting tongue, and soon, LeFou is close, with one hand wrapping around his own cock and pumping near fruition.
The air is officially thin - LeFou feels as insane as Gaston sounds, and he can't breathe and he’s sticky with precum and spit and then Gaston babbles at him--
It's a plea. Gaston's throat feels raw; his mouth dry. He's never needed something so much in his life.
He’d perhaps never have put it into words if he wasn't feeling high out of his mind, but Gaston's certain - right here, right now - that he'll go mad if LeFou isn't pushing his cock into his ass soon.
“Fuck me, please, I need you inside..!”
Those fingers had felt so nice.
“Fuck me, LeFou.”
He needs more of it. More than just fingers; something generously thick like--
“I suppose I'd better…” LeFou smiles sheepishly. He can feel the adrenaline making his face red, making him feel faint.
It's difficult to pull himself away, but he soon complies: stopping, sitting atop Gaston with him buried deep inside; looking down at him with a combination of curiosity, regret, fondness.
He wonders if perhaps Gaston is conscious enough to see it on him. It isn't an emotion that LeFou wears often.
“I'm going to fuck you,” he says dumbly.
“Yesss, fuck me,” Gaston begs, “Don't hold back. Do it - make me feel it.”
Lifting himself up off of Gaston, LeFou moves quickly - albeit awkwardly - into position, grabbing Gaston's ankles to hook them up onto his shoulders. But Gaston needs contact - much more contact - and draws LeFou closer, legs thrown around his sides, heels settling on his back. Gaston spreads himself willingly, eager for LeFou to align himself - one hand guiding his cock to Gaston's hole and breaching.
The howl that blasts from Gaston alarms them both; burns in Gaston's dry throat.
It spurs LeFou on to push in completely, losing his breath at the pressure of it - he's never felt anything so amazing. He likes - loves - to be filled, but nothing could ever compare to the way Gaston feels around him, clenching him like it's his life's goal to milk him dry. His fingers dig into Gaston’s thighs, deep, wanting to leave marks for Gaston to remember once the fever passes.
He doesn't know how long he can last. It's a Herculean task to perform for any length of time when the man he loves is writhing beneath him, murmuring encouragements and profanities.
Looking the way that he does…
Stray curls of hair fall into Gaston's face as he cries out in pleasure, bucking wildly to meet the snap of LeFou's hips; LeFou reaches a hand up, claws the hair gently away and Gaston keens into the touch - almost like a pet.
“It sounds like you like this,” LeFou coos, pulling out a couple of inches and thrusting in again in one smooth roll of his hips, watching himself disappear inside.
Gaston cries out again; shrinks his neck into his shoulders, eyes screwed shut, pleasure wracking his body. He nods shallowly - “Yes” - claws at LeFou's forearms for support as LeFou thrusts into him through the shivers and babbling.
“I can’t blame you - I do, too.”
“More,” he moans, revelling in the dull burn of LeFou penetrating him; his cock pulsating inside of him.
LeFou sinks deeper inside with remarkable ease, babbling alongside Gaston as they rock together, gasping pretty words of affection that Gaston doesn’t have it in him to comprehend. He bends down to him, sucking hot flesh between those same words - placing kisses on Gaston’s body wherever he can reach. His lips drag over stubble and sweat, nipples and chest hair.
He tries to be gentle - he really does - but LeFou can’t stand it, once he’s in and they’ve set a steady vicious rhythm that has them both gradually sliding across the floorboards. Their bodies fit beautifully together - the slap of damp skin strangely satisfying. Gaston is gagging for it, clenching his teeth, holding his breath to prevent from screaming LeFou’s name at the top of his lungs.
He runs his palms over Gaston’s muscles and Gaston does the same, massaging LeFou’s shoulders and pecs; hands roaming down to his stomach and flexing his fingers across the expanse of LeFou’s gut.
And when at last LeFou is gasping for breath, slowing down from loss of stamina, Gaston does his part to grind his hips into LeFou’s - fucking himself on his best friend’s cock. He’s only got to rock his body upwards in one quick motion to flip LeFou onto his back so that Gaston is atop LeFou, riding him.
“Ohh,” LeFou whimpers at the change of position, “Ohh God--”
He can push in so much deeper now - a task easily done when Gaston is leaning back and grinding down onto him with all he’s got. He’s still so hard, so needy. He’s got his cock in hand, pumping hard, and then suddenly his legs are trembling wildly.
“Ah! Wh-wh-at is t-that ?” he gasps in awe.
LeFou has no idea what he’s talking about - is just as blissed out of his mind as Gaston - but there seems to be a perfect angle that he’s hitting that turns Gaston to absolutely jelly; has tears falling from the corners of his eyes, sobbing out LeFou’s name over and over and over.
The whip-fast beat of their hearts throbs in their ears. There’s no telling how far the fever has progressed: they’re both burning up and too sweaty to tell for certain. That itch within Gaston almost feels appeased--
“Please, keep going,” Gaston begs, “I-- I’m going to--”
And then Gaston’s orgasm is coursing through him - kicks him like a horse to the head - and he doubles over, gripping LeFou’s shoulder with one hand as he rocks back and forth into his tight hand, spilling hot come over his fist and onto LeFou’s stomach. LeFou’s purring, moaning, loving every second, and then that ring of muscle around his cock clenches several times over and brings LeFou to his tipping point as well.
“Fuck, Gaston--!” he calls out desperately, arching his back, pushing up into the man for a few final weak thrusts.
When they finally pool their bodies together on the floor, panting and groaning and taking deep breaths together, Gaston is still half-hard; could go again still, but poor LeFou is out for the count, slipping out of him and cuddling up against Gaston’s chest, lightly dabbing him dry with his discarded blouse. The fever persists, though Gaston’s mind is slightly clearer. Sleep will do them both well.
When they awake, it’s due to a sharp knock at Gaston’s door.
LeFou rolls around on the floor to crack his back; lays sprawled out and naked, too exhausted to get up.
Gaston stands, lazily; shouts “One moment!” and determines to do the decent thing and answer the door. He feels disgustingly sticky from sweat, saliva…The ejaculate running slowly down the insides of his legs as he stands is uncomfortable at best.
He pulls on his underdrawers and blouse - or, oops, the blouse is LeFou’s - and that’s good enough for him. He waves LeFou back, and LeFou removes himself from view, though when Gaston cracks the door open to see his visitor, no one is on his front step to see them together anyway.
He examines his step. No one, but a single flower carefully wrapped in parchment paper sits at his feet, and with it, a notecard.
Scowling, Gaston delicately picks it up and brings it inside.
LeFou's eyes widen, “That's the thing that started this! Agathe knows !” His voice is small, anxious at the thought of something supernatural at play. “What does the note say?”
Gaston unfolds the card; reads it quietly to himself first before casting his eyes over at LeFou, huddled up on the floor.
“She says we can keep it.”