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Then I Will Be Your Queen

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“It’s… weird.”

Gaston snorted, looking up at LeFou from where he was lay across the shorter boy’s lap. They were children at the time, maybe fourteen at the oldest – too young to fight, and too old to pretend they were soldiers. “What is?”

“This.” LeFou tugged at a strand of his hair. It was loose from its usual ribbon, long and black and curly, smooth and soft enough to run his fingers through and dirty enough for him to know it belonged to Gaston. “It’s usually all tied up. It looks straighter then.”

Gaston laughed again. “Looking pretty matters out there. It doesn’t in here, mon amour.”

“No, I guess not.” The shorter boy sighed, twisting a few strands around his finger. “But you’re still pretty, even if you look like you’ve been dragged through a hedge.”

Gaston sat up abruptly, hair falling around his shoulders, and stared intently into LeFou’s eyes. “Really?”

“Yes.” LeFou paused for a moment. “Your eyes glitter and you blush when you laugh. You look like you’d be a pretty mistress, or some prince in a magic castle.”

“And you’d be my queen?”

A splutter. “Aren’t you ever scared someone will hear you?”

Gaston stared into the distance in thought, then snapped his gaze back to LeFou’s eyes, gaze as intense as ever. “So what if they do? They’ll have to know one day, love, if we are to marry.” He shifts slightly, climbing onto his knees, pushing LeFou down to his back and lying on top of him. “And we are, aren’t we? No matter how many damsels I flirt with, or how many mistresses I kiss. You and I are to marry someday, LeFou.”

LeFou stayed in silence for a moment, before reaching up and brushing Gaston’s hair out of his face. “Then I’ll be your queen, pretty-boy.”

Gaston snorted again, loud and harsh, and rocked back onto his feet.