adifferentlife | Christmas Eve (for Henri)

Christmas Eve (for Henri)

For a short while Sybil had wondered if she'd even be able to leave her apartment on the Christmas Eve, the snow coming in droves the day before. But it had tapered off through the night, and on the 24th the roads and footpaths were all clear of it. She'd bundled up to meet Henri at the Soup Kitchen, their time there passing quickly. A few hours of ladeling soup, serving up rolls, and handing over baskets of canned goods and gifts for the children, and she honestly felt as if she'd done something to help those who needed it. It wasn't enough, the simple giving of food only a bandage on the wound. But it was what they could manage today, though she finds herself more determined to contribute more to Darrow in the coming year.

It's perhaps an appropriate mood for going to mass. She's never been to a Catholic Church before, and it seems rather disappointing in the end. In English just as any service she was used to, but with a dreadful number of candles it seems to her. Overall she finds lttle different, refusing communion as the entire idea of transubstantiation seems suspect, but enjoyable nontheless. It's nicer to have Henri to share it with, even if he seems somber at some points of the night.

When they leave it's nearly one in the morning, truly Christmas day. It's snowing again and as she slips her arm through his offered one, Sybil looks up to him contentedly. "Happy Christmas."

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"Je t'en prie," she whispers softly, returning the kiss with affection, her hand reaching up to cover his. "My darling."

Henri blushed, ducking his head slightly to press his forehead to Sybil’s, his hand slipping to the back of her neck. “Et joyeaux Noel.” A soft smile curved at his lips. “I have something for you as well."

"You do?" Her delight is obvious, almost gleeful. Sybil touches his cheek fondly, her fingers grazing along before pulling back to clasp her hands eagerly together.

Her obvious delight made Combeferre chuckle softly. “Of course. Here-“ He took the jewelry box out of his pocket and placed it in her waiting hands. “I hope it suits.” The necklace inside was really quite simple, but there was an elegance to the simplicity that he hoped Sybil would like.

"Henri," she says in awe as she pulls it from the box, letting it dangle between her fingers and catch the light. It is simple, but that makes it no less beautiful, in fact she thinks it enhances the beauty of the stone. "It's wonderful."

She hold it up to her neck, twisting away so he can catch the clasp of the chain behind her neck. "Would you?"

Combeferre nodded, taking the chain from her. His fingertips were warm against the back of her neck. “Et voila,” he murmured, and pulled back with a fond smile. “Beautiful."

When he's done she doesn't look for a mirror, but rather turns back to Henri, cupping his face much the same way he'd cupped hers a moment before.

"Thank you," she whispers before she presses her lips to his again, slightly parted. It's a kiss that leaves little space between them, both nervous and yet not.

The kiss came unexpectedly - if not the mere press of her lips, then their purposeful sureness. Henri brought his hand to the back of her neck again, fingertips playing lightly against her skin. And though he sunk into the kiss gladly, he did not push further, allowing Sybil to take the lead.

That dance of his fingers against the nape of her neck makes her bold. It's something she'd already thought of, tonight that is. What it is to care for someone and to be so close to them. What it means here in this place and how that changes her life. One of the ways that it does so is this, her fingers curling into his hair, pressing the kiss.

Henri inhaled quietly, allowing himself to sink closer. Her fingers felt marvelous against his scalp and sent an unexpected shiver down his spine. Without quite breaking contact from her lips he murmured her name, and smiled, and kissed her once again.

Her breath catches hearing him say her name, and she wants to say so much more. For now Sybil thinks that her kiss says enough. Even now their bodies are touching in a way that thrills her, her hand dropping from his cheek to his neck, trailing along his collar.

Combeferre shifted closer on the sofa - just slightly, just enough to slide his hand down to the small of Sybil’s back. Encouraged by her enthusiasm, he pressed the kiss a bit deeper, too, with a murmur that was not really made of words. He knew he was becoming breathless, and could feel a flush on his brow, but did not yet want to pull away.

Sybil shifts with him, leaning back at the press of his kiss. There is a part of her that thinks even this is scandal, and yet another part wonders how something that feels so very right could be wrong. Her lips parted against his, the press of his hand and the feel of his tongue and lips tangling with hers only strengthen that resolve. Perhaps it's wrong to pull him toward her, but when she breaks the kiss, there's only one thing she could think of saying. "Henri- I love you very much."

Henri was sure that he was blushing now - with desire, or embarrassment, or something else - but he smiled breathlessly and ducked his head and murmured, “Le bon Dieu, Sybil… And I love you.” He met her gaze and brushed a stray lock of hair back from her face, their lips still nearly touching. “Are you all right?"

"I think-" Sybil takes a deep breath, meeting his eyes and gazing into them for what seems like hours but is likely only a moment. There's something in there she's searching for and she finds it. Terrifying and exciting, she wonders if she would have ever had this had she stayed home in Downton. Was this a gift of Darrow?

Her hand slips around his, squeezing it gently. "I think I'd like you to stay. I don't know what I can promise. More than this, that is. But I'd like you here."

Combeferre made a soft murmur of surprise. “Oh-“ He felt himself blushing anew and searched her face for signs of uncertainty - not for the sake of propriety, but from a deeply held sense of honor. She seemed nervous, yes, but her gaze held steady. “I would like that very much,” he said finally, pressing his lips to her forehead. “If you are sure."

That he seems concerned they not do anything she regret only makes her more sure. He's unlike anyone she's known before, and it's that thought that makes her nod, less nervous now though her stomach is still all aflutter. "I would."

“Very well, then.” His stomach was twisted in knots, but Henri was smiling. “I-“ he laughed a little, "I should inform Prouvaire that likely I will not be returning tonight. A moment?” Still flushed, he pulled away and scrambled off the sofa to fetch his phone.

"Of course," she says, grateful for the moment to herself to consider what she's really asked of him. Sybil stands, smoothing her skirts out of habit, the familiar movement a comfort. Is she ready for this? A part of her is still unsure, but that is now the smaller part. Sybil waits for him to finish on the phone before holding a hand back out to him. She wishes to kiss him again, to have him close to her.

Perhaps it was only his impatience, but typing the brief message on the phone’s tiny keyboard seemed to take an age. With Sybil. Don’t expect me back tonight. He huffed a silent laugh and shook his head, thankful that Jehan was the least likely of his friends to tease him mercilessly for this.

Practicalities done with, Henri turned back to Sybil and took both her hands, pulling her towards him. “Have I mentioned recently how beautiful you are?"

"Perhaps, but I don't mind hearing it again," she says playfully, the dance of her stomach soothed by her hands in his. Sybil closes the distance between them, pressing her lips gently to his.

“Good. Because I intend to say it many more times.” By the end his words were barely a whisper, and as they kissed, he brought a hand to the small of her back and pulled her into the embrace.

Her hand slips to the back of his neck, her fingers light against the hair at the nape. She's no words to whisper in response, sure that they're kiss is enough to let him know how pleased she is. Her kiss, and the tentative step toward her bedroom, almost as if she were the one leading a dance.

It wasn’t long before Henri was breathless and flushed all over again, heart beating hard as he disappeared into the kiss. He let her lead, glad to have her set what limits she wished - and more than that, a bit thrilled by her boldness. His hand ran up her back, examining the curve of her body with a light touch.

She's hardly a pinnacle of calmness herself, her breath catching as they step over the threshold of her bedroom. It's the only room in her apartment that he's never been in, and she knows should she go through with this she'll never be able to go back.

Sybil breaks the kiss again, her hands slipping to the front of his chest. She's watching them slip over his shirt and what lies beneath. His heart is racing and she smiles, knowing hers is as well. It's reassuring, and though her fingers tremble they're entirely sure as they undo a button.

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