Enjolras advised two hours of sleep. Three or four took advantage of it. Combeferre watched them curl up like babes on the ground, or corpses, and he turned to his friend. "Enjolras," Combeferre said, "I must request your assistance."
Enjolras needed to only look at him to understand. There was little comfort to be had and Enjolras could not begrudge Combeferre his need. "Anything I can give you is yours," he replied, and together they made their way to the back of the Corinthe. Enjolras would not make Combeferre kneel, so both lay on the floor.
Combeferre took the head of Enjolras's cock between his lips and began to suckle gently, his eyes partially closing. Enjolras stroked his hair to soothe him.
"My dear friend," Enjolras said. His cock did not harden. "You must not be concerned. For although we die here, we do not die alone. We stand on the threshold of the Republic. We will die in exile and never see the promised land, but we die as friends. If I can give you any comfort, let it be that. We will join those who have gone before us. We will not make them wait long."