LeFou knows himself.
He knows that he is desperately, unconditionally in love with his best friend. He knows that this love is so inextricably tied up with his sense of self that he would not know who he was without it. And he knew that he could not expect this love to be returned. Despite the unfortunate family name, he was no madman.
The first time it happened, they were at war.
Having defended the village from a band of marauders just a few years prior, both men thought they knew what they were getting into when they enlisted. As a matter of course, Gaston was given a captaincy and the command of the men from Villeneuve and its surrounding villages. He had immediately named LeFou his aide de campe. The whole town threw a celebration in honor of the brave men who were heading off to war the night before. There were jousts and boasts and drinking. Gaston spent the night disappearing for an hour at a time with no less than seven of the townswomen. LeFou spent it trying to shake off the embarrassment of having been dragged into a closet by a pretty young barmaid eager to send him off with something to remember and finding himself completely unable to perform.
The next morning, men rode off at dawn, proud and upright on their horses. They believed they were ready for anything.
The reality of war, of course was altogether different. The men had quickly learned that it involved far less fencing than crawling around in the mud, praying the enemy’s aim was just slightly worse than your own.
As Captain, Gaston had a private tent with a desk, chair, and bed. As LeFou’s friend, Gaston generously allowed him to sleep in the chair whenever he so desired. LeFou was used to ducking in at night after making his rounds and being certain to keep his hand cupped over the candle flame he was using for light so as to not disturb Gaston’s rest and quietly settling himself in the chair.
This night, however, he was startled to find Gaston in the chair, awake and staring blankly at the tent wall. They had lost Leremue today and Gaston has taken it quite hard. They had all been close to the man, but it was only Gaston who had to concern himself with how the man’s death reflected upon his leadership. He was taking it quite badly. LeFou tried to speak to his friend, but received no reply. LeFou felt his heart breaking for Gaston and was overcome with the desperate desire to comfort him.
Clearly broadcasting his movements so as not to startle Gaston, LeFou walked around behind him and tentatively began to rub his shoulders, uncertain whether the gesture would be appreciated. When Gaston sighed and relaxed back into LeFou’s hands, LeFou’s grip became firmer as he worked the tense muscles of his neck. Gaston raised a hand and gestured for him to pause and LeFou wondered if he had done something wrong until Gaston rose from his seat and began unbuttoning his coat. Still facing away, he proceeded to strip until he was left naked in the candlelight. LeFou’s eyes fixed on the light flickering across Gaston’s back, highlighting the rippling muscles that spanned from his shoulders and down his back before sloping into firm buttocks and strong thighs. LeFou forgot to breathe.
Gaston sat back down in the chair. He did not turn his head, but simply muttered, “Well then?” LeFou immediately stepped forward and resumed his massage. He tried with all his strength to focus on working the knots out of the muscles and not on the feel of warm, sweat-slicked skin beneath his hands. He was being a friend and an aide. He was simply providing a service. He would not get hard.
LeFou froze for a moment, then reminded himself that they had been marching nearly all day, of course his captain’s legs were aching and in need of relief. He walked around the chair to face Gaston. At some point the candle had gone out and LeFou could barely make out Gaston’s features in the dark, but he could hear him breathing, deep and rhythmic. As if in a trance, LeFou dropped to his knees and bent forward to knead the backs of Gaston’s calves. He worked his way up to his thighs and found himself immensely grateful for the darkness. No matter what had transpired when they were boys, surely Gaston would not appreciate even the slightest implication that this was more than a friendly gesture.
As LeFou moved his hands to the top of Gaston’s thighs, he froze again. It appeared he was not the only one aroused. Surely this was some sort of stress reaction on Gaston’s part. And his job, LeFou reasoned, was to relieve his stress. Tentatively, he shifted a hand so it brushed against Gaston’s member. Other than a sharp intake of breath, Gaston made no reaction. LeFou took this as encouragement and slowly began to stroke along his length. He felt Gaston grow harder in his hand and had to suppress a shudder. God, he was beautiful.
After another few moments of passively receiving his ministrations, Gaston shifted forward. LeFou felt a strong hand grip the back of his hair and begin to guide his head down. As soon as he realized Gaston’s intention, LeFou licked his lips, opened his mouth, and eagerly took him in.
LeFou felt abundantly lucky. Gaston was so strong and handsome and he could have anyone he wanted and here he was with LeFou, trusting him with the most vulnerable part of himself.
Gaston’s grip of LeFou’s head tightened as his hips began to jerk and then he was shoving his impressive length down his throat. LeFou’s eyes watered and he suppressed a gag. Of course he was willing to do this for Gaston – he would do anything for Gaston – but some warning would have been nice. No matter, what did the specifics matter when he finally had what he’d always wanted?
After another minute of thrusting, Gaston stilled himself and pulled LeFou off him. “I need more. I don’t want to think tonight.”
“Whatever you need, Gaston.”
“Hush. Take off your clothes and get on the bed.”
It was all LeFou could do to keep his legs from shaking as he complied. He could not see, but hear Gaston stalk towards him and felt a hand alight on his shoulder. LeFou’s heart nearly shuddered to a stop as he parted his lips for a kiss. Instead, he felt himself being grabbed and flipped over. He was thrown off balance and found himself lying face down on the mattress. He heard Gaston spit and slick himself before gripping LeFou’s hips and jerking them back towards him. With no warning or preparation, Gaston parted his buttocks and shoved himself in. LeFou bit his lip to keep from crying out in pain. He felt his erection wither beneath him as his body protested the intrusion.
And then he heard Gaston released a ragged sigh as he buried himself to the hilt. And even as his eyes felt the sting of tears, LeFou was confident he would count this as one of the shining moments of his life.
Up Next: The next time it happens...
Please let me know if you'd be interested in reading the rest! I have a general idea of where I want to go, but am in need of some encouragement. :)
In which history is revealed.
Thank you all so much for your comments and encouragement. They mean the world!
LeFou had been in love with Gaston for as long as he could remember.
Even as a young teen, before he was old enough for there to be any physical component to his feelings, he recalled being in awe of the larger boy. He simply wanted to be by his side, basking in the reflected glow of Gaston’s power and charisma. After all, LeFou was the shy son of a poor farmer who struggled to complete even the least taxing of farm tasks, let alone to make friends. Gaston had lost both parents to illness and had since built himself into a paragon of good health who possessed an inheritance and freedom that provoked envy in every young adult in the village. More importantly, Gaston allowed LeFou to remain glued to his side, unconsciously picking up on the difference between this envy and the pure admiration he received fro LeFou.
Their friendship was cemented when a chaplain had come to the village to teach the boys how to read. LeFou had always been an adept learner and began to pick it up quickly, but Gaston struggled. He claimed that the letters were always switching around on him and there wasn’t any point to putting in the effort anyway – time was better spent actually hunting animals than reading about someone else doing it. Despite his professed apathy, it was clear to LeFou that his friend was deeply bothered by his rare inability to excel in something that came so easily to the other boys. Thus, in solidarity, LeFou had put down his books and refused to continue on with the lessons. When the chaplain had complained to LeFou’s parents about his behavior, his father had dismissed the man. His father firmly believed that a boy who struggled as much as his son, both physically and socially, would be far better served by maintaining his friendship with someone like Gaston than by acquiring yet another skill that would not be helpful in preparing him for his future as a farmer.
When the boys were sixteen, a band of Portuguese marauders came to Villeneuve. They were intent on pillaging all they could to aid them as they marched towards Paris. LeFou’s family farm, set as it was slightly apart from the main village, became their first target. LeFou and Gaston returned from a hunting trip to find the fields ablaze and the house burned to ash. There had been no sign of LeFou’s parents. LeFou had almost broken, then, but Gaston clutched his friend to him and swore to exact vengeance.
After rounding up the men of the town and leading them to a hard-fought victory over the marauders, Gaston’s already not-insignificant popularity in Villeneuve soared. He was celebrated as a hero and found himself flush with wine, women, and gifts. As such, it meant even more to LeFou when Gaston had the magnanimity to aid his old friend who had been left with nothing. Gaston allowed LeFou to move into the spare bedroom in his house and eat at his table. He taught LeFou how to hunt and cook, how to fence and duel, how to comb his hair and dress fashionably. LeFou would not have been the man he was without Gaston.
They had gone off to war together just a few years later. Both survived and returned home to tell tales of Gaston’s leadership and bravery. There were many men, however, who had not returned. Gaston had harbored a concern that he would be blamed for this, but instead, the grieving widows appeared to want nothing more but to express their gratitude to the captain for everything he had done to protect them. It seemed to LeFou that they did so with unnecessary volume at the most inconvenient hours of the night. His bedroom shared a wall with Gaston’s and so he was made to endure endless hours of thuds and moans seeping in from the room next door.
LeFou’s sole comfort at times like these was the knowledge that, when it was all over, Gaston would come back to him. He always did.
While they were at war, they only made love a few times. That’s how LeFou liked to think of it, at least – making love. Fucking, while vulgar, might have been closer, and saying simply that Gaston used his body was even nearer the mark. Whatever he called it, it had only happened at the end of the very worst days of battle. They never spoke of it and Gaston treated him no differently outside the tent. Inside, however, a strange ritual had developed on nights where exhaustion was too heavy upon them for carnal activity. Gaston would strip to his breeches, then wait patiently for LeFou to do the same and get in bed. Gaston would lie down next to him and rest his head on LeFou’s chest. LeFou would stroke his hair, rub his ears, whisper reminders of his greatest accomplishments – anything that allowed Gaston to relax enough to drift off to sleep.
Now, even with the war far behind them, there would still be nights when he would hear the creak of his door and feel a warm, firm body slide in next to him in the bed in search of comfort.
This was, LeFou thought, as it should be.
In which ego trumps heteronormativity.
This is a slight format adjustment - new chapter coming soon!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
The next time it happened, it was an entirely different experience.
It was a cold night and LeFou was kneeling in front of his fireplace, struggling with the kindling, when Gaston burst into his room without knocking, clad only in breeches and a loose undershirt.
“Is everything alright, Gaston?”
“No! Things are not alright, LeFou. I believe I am being slowly bored to death.”
“Oh?” LeFou rose and frowned in confusion. “It sounded like you were having… company in there not too long ago?”
“I made her leave. I couldn’t bear it. They’re all the same, LeFou!” he lamented. “A kiss here, a touch there, and they shudder and go weak. Where’s the sport? Where’s the challenge?”
LeFou wasn’t sure how he was supposed to respond to that.
“It’s just too easy for me.” Gaston began to pace. “I am cursed with a physique and level of stamina that others are simply unprepared for and I believe they find it an overwhelming experience. It’s like I can’t not completely ravish my partners.”
“You understand. You, of course, have been satisfied by our encounters?”
LeFou felt a blush creep into his cheeks. Gaston had never referred to their nights together before. “Satisfied? Sure…” he murmured evasively.
Gaston stopped pacing and frowned. “You know what I mean, LeFou.”
LeFou was sure his face was beet red and he glanced down and gave a barely perceptible shake of his head.
Gaston was aghast. “Not once?”
“Um… Not really… No,” LeFou stammered. He felt some small gratification when he looked up and saw the distress on his friend’s face. So it was not that Gaston did not care; he simply hadn’t realized.
“So… What, then? You prefer to take your pleasure with women?”
“I wouldn’t quite say that…”
“This distresses me, LeFou. It distresses me greatly.”
Gaston was staring off into the distance, looking deeply troubled. LeFou’s urge to comfort him overtook the immobility that had arisen from his utter bafflement at the turn this conversation had taken. He stepped forward and reached out to put a soothing hand on Gaston’s arm.
A look of determination crossed Gaston’s face and he moved quickly to catch LeFou’s wrist. Slowly, he guided LeFou’s hand to his chest, sliding his fingers along the hard muscle and coarse hair exposed by the low neck of his shirt. Then Gaston placed a firm hand on the back of LeFou’s neck and tilted his head upwards before leaning down to kiss him.
LeFou knew Gaston was an excellent kisser – Gaston had told him so many times himself. But actually experiencing it was something else altogether. He used his lips and tongue and teeth with such expert precision that LeFou was left helpless, completely dominated by sensation and unable to form a coherent thought beyond finally.
Gaston broke the kiss to pull off first his own shirt and then LeFou’s. LeFou felt a swell of self-doubt upon seeing Gaston’s tanned and perfectly chiseled torso next to his pasty round one, but Gaston seemed to pay it no mind. He pulled LeFou to him and began kissing him again. He ran his hands along LeFou’s arms and shoulders and down his back and LeFou found himself forgetting to feel self-conscious.
Gaston backed LeFou up to the bed and ridded him of the rest of his clothes so quickly LeFou had trouble processing what was happening. Though that could have had something to do with all the blood having left his brain to rush lower, a situation that was not helped by Gaston pushing him back on the bed before removing what remained of his own clothes. He stripped slowly, clearly aware of the effect the ever-increasing revelation of skin was having.
When he was fully nude, Gaston came forward and sprawled on the bed next to LeFou. He turned on his side so LeFou would feel the full length of Gaston’s hardness flush against his hip. LeFou bit his lip to suppress a moan as Gaston spit into his palm and took him in hand.
LeFou knew he couldn’t possibly last long like this and tried to express something to that effect, but Gaston simply covered LeFou’s mouth with his own and kept up the unrelenting pace he had set. LeFou had no choice but to go with it, to give into the sensations that flooded through him and set his blood on fire until he couldn’t take it anymore. He came harder than he ever had in his life.
As LeFou lay there gasping and struggling to come back to himself, Gaston wiped his hand on LeFou’s thigh, then proceeded to lazily stroke himself off next to him. It didn’t take long for him to grunt and finish across LeFou’s stomach. After taking a moment to recover, he rose and pulled his breeches back on.
With a self-satisfied smile, Gaston picked up his shirt from the floor and walked out of the room, leaving LeFou to clean himself up.
Up next: Belle enters the story and we learn the origin of that infamous bite mark.
In which LeFou experiences an awakening.
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
LeFou had never particularly enjoyed sex before.
Of course, it had produced positive physical sensations the few times he had it. But he had to be at just the right point of drunk – wasted enough to find whatever woman Gaston had most recently rejected attractive, but not so much that he was unable to perform. It was a tricky balance to achieve and, most of the time, it simply didn’t feel like it was worth the effort. Quite frankly, he’d prefer his own hand.
Now that he knew what it was like to have sex with Gaston – mutually participatory and pleasurable sex, that is – it was like something feral had been awakened inside him. He’d look up and see his reflection in the mirror above Gaston’s bed and he would barely recognize himself. Was that him flushed and writhing on his back, moaning wantonly? Was it possible he could be the man he saw riding his lover, head thrown back and biting his lip so hard it drew blood? He could scarcely believe it.
He knew this was something he shouldn’t allow himself to want so much. Not only was this another man, it was his best friend. He shouldn’t be thinking about sex every time he laid eye on him. But such reprimands to himself did no good. LeFou craved Gaston like an addict.
Gaston seemed happy to oblige. He made it a point to not sleep with any one woman too often or many times, lest they get the idea that he had any intentions towards them. He had no such compunction regarding LeFou, for obvious reasons, and so felt no need to carefully limit himself.
Moreover, Gaston seemed to relish LeFou’s reaction to him. Gaston took it as a point of pride that he could make the other man come in under a minute or over an hour, depending on the techniques he applied.
To be clear, Gaston did not see himself as anything less than heterosexual. He spoke regularly of his plans to marry some beautiful woman to cook and clean and produce beautiful children. Perhaps he’d go off and find a countess in need of a strong man to take over and run her estate for her. Or maybe a beautiful heiress would hear of his noble exploits during the war and travel to Villeneuve to find him. Gaston had many ideas.
It did not seem to occur to Gaston that LeFou might not want to them while lying in bed with him post-coitus.
Still, those plans were vague and did not seem to pose any immediate threat. And so, for perhaps the first time in his life, LeFou felt content.
This was why, as admittedly lovely a girl as Belle was, LeFou could not help but resent it when she entered the picture. She had, of course, lived in the town since childhood and so they’d all known each other all their lives. LeFou couldn’t quite pinpoint when and why things changed. If forced to pose a theory, he might say the blame lay with the barmaid in the tavern who gossiped with anyone who would listen about how Gaston was the most eligible bachelor in Villeneuve and had yet to take a wife – was there a story there? Alternatively, it could have been Tom and Dick complaining about how both of them had struck out with Belle and they doubted it was possible for any man to woo her. Or it simply could have been that Belle had happened to look particularly fetching on a day when Gaston was in a confident mood and her rejection of his overture had triggered the part of Gaston that could never resist a challenge.
Whatever the reason, Gaston had become determined to win Belle’s hand. LeFou admired her ability to resist his advances. Few could say no to Gaston when he was at his most debonair and charming. LeFou knows that he couldn’t.
A few weeks into Gaston’s Belle obsession, the two men were talking and cleaning Gaston’s bedroom. Or, rather, Gaston was sitting in his chair and talking while LeFou dusted.
“Perhaps I should ask her to dinner? Or, better yet, get her to ask me to dinner so I can charm both her and her father at once?”
“Haven’t you tried both of those tactics already?”
Gaston deflated. “I am vexed, LeFou,” he sighed. “Put down that rag and come here. I need a distraction.”
While LeFou’s brain tried to process whether he felt insulted, his body responded instantly and he was in Gaston’s lap before he could form a fully coherent thought.
Gaston chuckled. “Oh, you’re so easy, LeFou.”
LeFou stiffened at that and tried to climb off him, but Gaston locked his hands behind LeFou’s back and held him in place.
“No, no, don’t be like that. It pleases me. How can we challenge ourselves today, my friend?”
Gaston always wanted to try some new sex act or role-play he’d gleaned from somewhere or simply made up. LeFou wasn’t sure if this was due to genuine sexual curiosity or if it was Gaston’s attempt to justify why he had spent the past few months sharing his bed with a man far more often than with any women. LeFou supposed it didn’t matter much either way and resolved not to think about it.
Gaston’s hands had begun to methodically knead LeFou’s back and he heard his voice go deep and husky when he responded that he was open to whatever Gaston wanted to do with him.
Gaston kissed him, then looked thoughtful for a moment before breaking out into a grin. “You haven’t yet come from just my penetrating you, have you?”
“Well, no, but… I don’t know that that’s a thing?”
“It most certainly is. Difficult to achieve, perhaps, but doable.”
LeFou raised a questioning eyebrow.
“I was never privy to that kind of conversation…”
“LeFou,” Gaston interrupted. “Do you trust me?”
“Of course I trust you,” he replied automatically.
“Good. Then take off your clothes and get on the bed.”
LeFou obliged, stripping quickly and laying down on his back, then propped himself up on his elbows to watch Gaston undress. LeFou felt himself already growing hard. He would have thought he’d have grown used to the sight of Gaston’s naked body, but every time it seemed he found something new and intriguing to arouse him – the freckles on his shoulders, the enticing gleam in his hazel eyes, the way his loosened hair fell in dark curls down his back…
Once he had entirely disrobed, Gaston paused a moment and looked LeFou over thoughtfully before stalking forward. Gaston pulled him to the edge of the bed and spread his legs wide, then sank to his knees between them and took LeFou into his mouth.
Gaston often had LeFou go down on him, but it was rare for him to return the favor. The feel of Gaston’s mouth on him – soft lips, talented tongue, a light scrape of teeth – was pure bliss.
LeFou forced his eyes open so he could look up at the mirror. The image of Gaston, war hero and pillar of the community, on his knees pleasuring him was too much. He felt his heart pound in his throat and his breath hitch.
“Gaston, I’m going to…”
And then abruptly the pleasure was gone and replaced by a sharp burst of pain on his lower stomach.
LeFou blinked down in shock to see Gaston sinking his teeth into his flesh. It wasn’t until LeFou let out an involuntary whimper that Gaston let go and pulled back.
“I said,” Gaston gritted, pressing a thumb into the center of the newly forming bruise, “that this time you were going to come from my cock alone. Is that so hard to understand?”
“No, of course not. You… You’re just so good at everything you do that it can be difficult to comply. The bite was good thinking.”
Gaston appeared mollified. He reached towards the drawer where he kept a bottle of lubricant. Gaston often preferred to go without, but given his particular goal, had apparently deemed it necessary on this occasion. He proceeded to prepare LeFou thoroughly, tauntingly, until LeFou found himself gasping, “please, Gaston.”
Gaston removed his fingers and took a step back. “Go on, ask nicely.”
“Please, I want you inside me.”
“Are you certain?”
LeFou felt himself near tears, he was so overcome with want. “Yes, please, Gaston, anything, I’ll do anything, just please…”
“Fuck me. Please, Gaston, fuck me.”
“Good boy. I think I will.” Gaston slicked himself with more of the lubricant. LeFou prepared to turn over. “No, not like that. Stay just where you are. I want you to see everything.”
LeFou complied. He lay pliant and watched as Gaston lifted his hips with ease and entered him. Gaston was being gentler than usual and gave LeFou a moment to adjust before he began to move with long, slow strokes.
LeFou allowed his head to drop back and his eyes to drift closed as he relaxed. He felt himself harden again. “Faster,” he whispered, and Gaston complied. LeFou was almost there, but it wasn’t quite enough. Unconsciously, he reached down to take himself in hand.
“Don’t you dare,” Gaston growled, and used his larger size to grab LeFou’s wrists and pin them down by his sides. In doing so, he shifted his angle slightly and then he was hitting LeFou’s most sensitive spot with every thrust. It was an exquisite torture.
He couldn’t take anymore.
He never wanted it to end.
He felt his body tense, then was overcome with a glorious sensation of release.
A look of pride and satisfaction danced across Gaston’s face and then, eyes on fire and mouth agape, he chased his own completion.
LeFou looked down at the bruise blossoming on his stomach. He found himself suddenly filled with the strange urge to show it off. He wanted everyone to look upon it and know he was marked, he was possessed, he belonged to Gaston.
He shook off the illogical train of thought as Gaston collapsed on the bed beside him, exhausted. He was being ridiculous. What excuse could he possibly have to display a bite mark on his stomach?
Up Next: We get into the events of the movie, for better and worse.
Your comments give me life. <3
In which LeFou gets the closest he'll come to getting what he wants.
This fic has been tagged for portraying an abusive relationship from the beginning, but I still wanted to give a heads up that things take a darker tone in this chapter as we get further into the events of the movie. Please read with caution!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
The last time it happened, it happened like this.
Despite the warmth of the summer evening, LeFou was shivering as they neared the village. He could not be certain how much of this was the result of lingering cold and how much was a physical manifestation of the guilt he felt over leaving Maurice.
LeFou knew Gaston better than anyone else in the world. And he knew that this was not the Gaston he knew. Gaston was selfish and he could be cruel, but LeFou had never known him to be murderous. He had killed during the war, of course – they all had – but that was entirely different from deliberately causing the death of a defenseless old man.
But Maurice had hurt Gaston’s pride. And, LeFou reflected, since the war there had only been one other person who had done that – Belle. Every other person in Villeneuve admired Gaston and bolstered his ego. Perhaps the horrors of war had been hidden beneath a thin veneer of self-righteousness, and the tiniest crack in it had allowed them all to come rushing back. For, if Gaston was flawed, if he was capable of error, then was indeed to blame for the travesties inflicted upon the men under his command?
To LeFou, the answer was obvious, but he wondered if that might not be so readily apparent to the man in question.
“Gaston,” he ventured. “One man’s opinion doesn’t change a thing about who you are or what everyone else thinks of you. I, for one…”
“Quiet, LeFou! I am no weeping maiden in need of your comfort and pity.”
LeFou lapsed into silence.
A little ways before they reached the end of the tree line, Gaston stopped the cart, got out, and began to pace. A flicker of hope arose in LeFou’s chest – was this when Gaston finally processed what he’d done and changed his mind?
“Coming!” He clambered out of the cart and tried to locate Gaston by the sound of his voice and footsteps. It was very dark in the woods and LeFou was finding it difficult to see more than a few feet in front of him.
When he finally found Gaston in a small clearing, LeFou breathed a sigh of relief.
“LeFou, how are we going to make this work?”
“Oh, I’m sure once we’ve untied him and talked him down a bit he can be convinced not to say anything. I mean, I’m sure he’d be grateful…”
“What are you on about?”
“Um, Maurice? Aren’t you saying…”
“This is not about Maurice!” Gaston exploded, slamming his fist into a nearby tree.
LeFou struggled to keep a quaver out of his voice when he responded. “Sure, sure, Gaston. I must have misunderstood. Talk to me, tell me what it’s about.”
“That man is insane and a menace. For him to treat me like I’m not worth his time... Me! Not worth his time! Can you even imagine?”
“No one sane could ever think it was anything less than an honor for you to want to marry their daughter. He’s not in his right mind. All the more reason to…”
“I’m really doing to village a favor by getting rid of him, aren’t I?”
“I don’t know that I’d say…"
“When Belle returns, we will explain that her father had some sort of fit and ran off into the woods raving about a beast. We tried to track him down, but it was impossible. She will be devastated, of course, but all wounds heal. And she’ll need someone to take care of her. This could all work out quite well.”
Gaston seemed to be calming. He’d stopped pacing, at least. LeFou hoped that meant he would be able to actually get through to him now.
“Far be it from me to question your strategy or tactics, Gaston, but are you certain there is no other alternative? I do not pity you, but I do pity that man we left behind. Surely there is some way…”
“How many times do I need to explain this to get it through your thick skull?” Gaston was nearly shouting. So much for the return of calm.
He turned, clearly prepared to stalk off further into the woods. At times, when he was angry, Gaston simply needed to be left alone, but LeFou wasn’t didn’t feel comfortable letting him go off by himself in such a state.
When Gaston ignored him and began to stomp away, LeFou reached out and grabbed his arm. Before he knew what was happening, Gaston whirled around and shoved him away, hard. LeFou reeled and stumbled backwards, hitting the back of his head against a tree before collapsing against it. The world began to go hazy.
“LeFou? My God, LeFou!”
Gaston rushed over and knelt down next to him.
“Are you ok? Oh, thank God, you’re okay.”
Gaston reached towards him and LeFou was sure he didn’t imagine the flash of pain that crossed Gaston’s face when he flinched away.
“LeFou, I am so sorry. I don’t know what came over me. Please, let me help you.”
LeFou’s head was still swimming, but he still noticed the oddity of Gaston using either the words “sorry” or “please,” let alone both at once. He relaxed slightly and allowed Gaston to gently maneuver him so that his head lay against Gaston’s lap. Gaston ran his fingers through LeFou’s hair, checking for blood and breathing a sigh of relief when he found none.
“Oh, LeFou. My first and dearest friend, my LeFou. I would never hurt you. You know I couldn’t bear for you to leave my side.”
“And yet you still seek to marry Belle.”
“I must marry her, of course. I publically declared my intentions and it would be intolerable to be seen as a man who cannot keep his word. But you can come live with us! Yes, you can stay on as my valet or something. Practically nothing would have to change regarding the terms of our relationship. It’s perfect!”
It absolutely was not perfect, but it was still more than LeFou had ever dreamed possible.
He struggled to sit up and face Gaston.
He tried to catch a glimpse of his eyes in the dark, needing to see if they still had that sheen of madness. Before he could, Gaston took LeFou’s face in his hands and kissed him. It was unlike so many of their previous kisses. This was slow, tender, even – dare he say it? – loving. Any other thoughts flew from LeFou’s mind as he found himself crawling into Gaston’s lap, trying to get as close as he could.
The pain in LeFou’s head seemed to float away as Gaston maneuvered him so he was laying back on the ground with Gaston’s overcoat to cushion him. Gaston hovered over him, kissing his face, his neck, his ears, careful to use his arms to support his own weight so he did not cause LeFou any further discomfort. LeFou couldn’t help reflecting on the first time they’d been together and how much different this was. How much better.
Gaston pulled back just enough to make quick work of the laces on both their pants. He then deliberately licked his own hand before raising it to LeFou’s mouth for LeFou to lap at as well. When his it was good and wet, Gaston reached down and took both of them into his large hand. He stroked with a leisurely pace until they were panting for breath. LeFou heard himself whimpering for more and, to his great surprise, Gaston obliged, moving faster and faster until they were both thrusting against each other into his fist.
Gaston came with a shout. Both his thrusts and his hand shuddered to a stop and LeFou shifted to finish himself off. But then he felt Gaston’s hand, covered with his own seed, wrap around him and resume pumping. LeFou didn’t know if it was the added lubrication or the fact that Gaston had cared enough to keep going after his own release, purely for LeFou’s pleasure, but he came very quickly after that.
“Oh, Gaston,” he breathed before he was fully back in his right mind. “I love you.”
Gaston just stared for a moment. Then he murmured “LeFou, I love to hear you say that,” and kissed him.
Somehow, LeFou knew that this was the closest he would ever get to an expression of reciprocated feelings from Gaston. And, in that moment, it was enough.
Up Next: The end.
Thank you again for all your comments - I have so enjoyed hearing your perspectives on everything! xo
In which things come to an end, of sorts.
Thank you all so much for your kudos and comments, they have really meant a lot. Wouldn't have gotten through this without you!
Gaston and LeFou. They were a pair, they were Le Duo, there could not be one without the other.
LeFou had his doubts, but with all that history, all that passion, all that connection that had come before, when the time came, how could LeFou not go along with Gaston’s plan?
How could LeFou not lie to support his claim that Maurice was insane, especially when Gaston drew close to him and touched his face and gazed into his eyes with such rare warmth?
How could LeFou not be afraid when all warmth had left Gaston’s eyes and he was raving like a violent madman but everyone followed him anyway and LeFou had no choice but to go along and try to protect his friend in the vain hope things might still all work out for the best?
How could LeFou not feel his heart break into a million pieces when Gaston left him pinned to the ground so he could go off and try to be the hero he already had been in LeFou’s eyes, but was no longer?
And, as hurt and angry and humiliated as LeFou was, how could it not be worse to never see Gaston again?
And so, LeFou moves on.
He sells the house he had lived in with Gaston and uses the money to buy the land that was once his family’s farm. He is determined to rebuild.
He contacts the chaplain and asks to be taught how to read. Belle has always said books are passages to the larger world outside Villeneuve. LeFou would like to spend more time there.
He grows a moustache. Gaston had always insisted he remain clean-shaven. But LeFou had always been partial to how he looked with a moustache and Gaston wasn’t here anymore, was he?
He is approached by Stanley at the prince’s ball. Stanley arranges it so he and LeFou end up dancing together. Anyone who might notice would take it as a joke, but LeFou knows there is nothing comical about the way their eyes meet and sparks seem to pass between their joined hands.
He comes to care deeply for Stanley. He might even love him.
LeFou knows Gaston. He knows the man is indomitable, a man who cannot be held, even by death. He knows that one day Gaston will return to the village. He may be injured, he may be limping, he may even be crawling on his knees dragging himself through the mud. But he will return. And, on the day he does, LeFou will go to him. There will be no other choice. There never was.
LeFou knows himself.