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It's not really hard to make Albert blush. Sometimes André just has to look at him, smiling ever so slightly, and his viscount turns pink, his lashes fluttering, a shy smile on his lips, his eyes full of stars. He's so easy for him. André loves it. Loves him.
It has somehow become a sort of game. Every time he sees the Morcerf heir, he tries to change the color of his cheeks. So far, Albert has reacted to his stare, his voice, his hand brushing his, his discreet and fast-going smile, his hand-kissings, his laugh, and an infinite variety of things André has done solely for him.
Today André wants to celebrate this blush, to express how much he wants to kiss this pretty pink face, its beautiful moles and maybe Albert's lips too, if he feels brave enough to try.
He never expressed his feelings with words but Albert seems to have understood anyway. He's clever. Or maybe André is obvious. It doesn't matter. Albert knows and he loves him too. Or so he seems. He reacts quite a lot to his presence, always smiling brightly each time he sees him. It's enough for André. His smile is enough. Albert is enough. He will always be.
At dawn, just before meeting his viscount for an early walk into the streets to see the sun rising above the Seine, André slips into the Count's garden. He will not mind a missing flower or two. André knows which one he wants. There is a rose which bloomed a few days ago, its petals the exact color of Albert’s face when he catches André staring at him. Secretly, André calls it Albert’s flower. And today he will give it to the Morcerf heir, and his cheeks will turn pink, and Albert will become a flower. His favourite one.
He should have taken a knife though, or scissors maybe. It is actually quite hard to pluck a flower with bare hands. André doesn't mind the thorns but he doesn't want to alter his present in any way. It has to be perfect, flawless, like Albert is in his eyes.
Albert doesn’t have thorns, he is soft and sweet, caring and so, so nice, a flash of his gentle smile could make André cry.
He sometimes wants to exist nowhere but in his arms, Albert’s hands on his back, in his hair, silently complaining about its shortness, Albert's voice in his ear, humming a low tune, Albert’s smell around him, comforting, Albert’s heartbeat under his fingers, steady yet sometimes too fast when he kisses his neck. André is certain that his viscount's hugs are the best in the world. Even if he never received one from him. He just knows.
Finally, André has it in his hands. Albert’s flower. Grazing at its petals, he wonders if his viscount’s cheeks would be as soft under his fingers. His skin would be like velvet, if André dared to stroke it. Albert’s hands are soft against his, or under his lips. His face has to be the same.
André smiles softly at the bloom, wondering what the Morcerf heir will do with it. Maybe he will stick it in his buttonhole, to carry André’s present all day, or in his hair. André always thought he would be beautiful with flowers hidden amongst his locks. He wishes he could be the little rose to which Albert will smile, the one he will take carefully in his hands and keep preciously. But this flower is Albert, not him. Maybe André should keep it instead. But if he does this, he will not have any present for his viscount, and this is unacceptable. Albert will love it. That is all that matters.
When he knocks at the Morcerf estate door, André is welcomed by no one but Albert, already smiling widely. He was expecting him. Has he, like André, woken up three hours too soon because he was too excited to see him again? Has he waited close to the door, waiting to hear him knock, watching him walk too fast by the window? André smiles timidly, as always unable to hide how pleased he is to be with Albert. “Hi!” Even his voice is telling how much he loves him. It’s never as soft, never as tender. He melts only for his viscount. Albert’s smile grows, his eyes crinkling, and he giggles a little, without any reason, maybe just because he is happy to see him. “Hello André. I missed you.” André almost closes his eyes to savour the words. He says these kinds of things so easily… He will never get tired of it.
They stay here, on the doorstep, looking at each other, smiling, and André could easily forget his present and get back to his wonders about the softness of Albert’s skin, Albert’s lips, Albert’s hand framing his face as the taller boy leans forward to kiss him. “I-I… yeah, I… me too. What you said.” Albert laughs again, the most beautiful sound on Earth – no, that would be André’s name in his viscount mouth, with his lovely gentle voice –, and André sighs dreamily, feeling stupidly lovestruck and not caring for the least.
Albert’s smile fades suddenly as he looks at André’s hands, and the flower he is still holding carefully. “What is this?” André's brows furrow. Doesn't he like flowers? Or roses maybe? André doesn't want to see this discontent look on his viscount's face. Albert takes André's hands in his, his thumb slowly caressing the skin. “You are hurt… Is it blood?”
At first, André doesn't understand what he means. It is just a rose, pink as his viscount's blush, nothing to worry about. Then he looks at his hands, which Albert holds with great care. His fingers are bloody. Ah. So that is what upsets the Morcerf heir, not the flower. It is quite a relief. “What happened?” Albert takes his hands higher, closer to his eyes, almost close enough for André to cup his face if his hands weren't trapped comfortably between his. “Does it hurt?” He sounds really concerned. André shakes his head. He hadn't realised he had scratched his fingers that much on the thorns. Albert is really distracting.
“It's nothing. I just didn't have scissors or anything so I picked your flower with my hands. But I'm fine, really, I've seen worse.” Albert seems unable to choose between fondness and disapproval at his words. “I didn’t need anything, you should take better care of yourself instead.” André pouts a little, knowing that his viscount can't resist his sad puppy eyes. “So you don't like it?” Albert stutters, his hand almost reaching his face to stay on his cheek, and André tries his best to widen his eyes, hoping it will be enough for his viscount to graze his face, to kiss his cheekbone, or even his lips, if he is lucky. “I love it, I love everything you give me. But please, don’t hurt yourself for it. Do you need help to clean your hands? Do you have bandaids?”
Albert's eyes turn back to the flower, which is miraculously exempt from any bloodstains, but he seems more interested in André's fingers. Delicately, he takes the rose, tucks it behind his ear mindlessly, and takes a better look at André's hands. He is so beautiful. André was right, flowers suit him. He doesn’t really need help to wash the blood off his hands, but he nods still. He wants Albert to touch him longer, to take care of him, to caress his palms gently, looking for little cuts, careful not to hurt him. “Yes, I need you.” Albert blushes at the innuendo, forgetting to appear discontent, and his lips curl a little. His cheeks match his rose. André smiles too, unable to act differently in front of his favourite flower.
The Morcerf heir doesn’t let go of André's hands as he guides him to a bathroom and instructs him to sit. André obeys, liking this new side of Albert. He is more authoritative when he is worried. It's cute. And André likes very much when his soft viscount is giving him orders.
Albert cleans the blood on his skin, his touch so light André can barely feel it, which is a shame, and then he inspects his digits, holding them so close that he could almost kiss them. He looks like every little cut has offended him personally. André hesitates a second, then dares to speak. “I don’t think I'll need bandaids. But maybe… you could kiss my fingers to make it better?”
Two hazel eyes cross his, a question lying there, but his viscount still smiles, fondly, not taking his words as a joke. Which is good, because André was very serious. He wants to feel Albert’s lips on him, anywhere. His mouth, his hands, it doesn't matter. He craves for his viscount's affection and his love. Albert is looking at him, one of his fingers has started to caress his wrist, slowly going up his forearm, leaving goosebumps on its way, and finally, the viscount takes his hands to his lips.
His first kiss is soft, delicate, the caress of a butterfly, gone too fast. André almost whines. Before he can ask for more, a second kiss grazes his knuckles. This one is slower, he has the time to feel Albert’s hot breath against his skin, the time to feel or imagine a hint of a tongue before his lips move forward. His viscount diligently kisses every single cut, staring at him as he does, either to be sure he isn't hurting him, or to enjoy the blush André can feel growing on his face. “You really don't make me want to avoid having any injury…” he whispers as Albert kisses his palm before nibbling at an area without any cut.
This time André moans, the sudden sound echoing in the bathroom, and his viscount smiles mischievously. “And what if I kissed you for every time I see you without injuries?” André swallows, his mouth suddenly dry. “You would?” Albert nods, kissing his hand again as proof of good will. “I will. But I won't kiss your hands, if you let me reward you better.” His eyes fall to André's lips, stating clearly what he means, and André tries not to make any needy sound again as Albert's pink little tongue darts between his lips to moisturise them. He feels like he is going to be devoured and he desires nothing else.
“Can I have an advance? Just to be sure of what I'll have.” Albert's eyes, almost dark with desire, soften as a new smile appears on his lips, playful this time, and still so loving André can't help but smile in return. “You can ask for it, but I am not sure I can give it to you. I don't think you deserve a reward right now, not when some of your fingers are still bleeding. What do you think, André? Have you been good enough for me?” André pouts, unable to hide his shiver. “If you lick my cuts, there wouldn't be any blood anymore… it would be as if I was perfectly well…”
Albert chuckles and stops looking at him like a predator to caress André's cheek tenderly. “I love you. I don't need any reason to kiss you as long as you want it, and I won't use it to force you to do anything. I just would like you to be careful, but even if you are not I would like to kiss you. So, do you want me to kiss you? For no other reason than love?”
André blinks, not entirely sure that he isn't dreaming. He knew that Albert loved him, theoretically, but to hear it… To hear his viscount confess his desire to kiss him, not only because André has asked but because he wants to, because he wants him… His heart is beating so much he is certain that Albert can see it under his clothes. “I… Yes. Kiss me, please.”
The Morcerf heir smiles, as beautiful and bright as the sun, his hands come to cup his face, as soft and delicate as if André was the rose in his hair, and finally, his mouth touches his, and André closes his eyes, feeling Albert’s nose brushing against his. His lips part to taste his tongue too, and his viscount smiles into the kiss, letting the faintest of relieved sigh escape him.
André never wants this embrace to end, but they both need to breathe at some point. It doesn’t have to be right now though. They can kiss a little longer.