IDK what ships you're in the mood to write, but how about Forehead Kiss for Marius and Courfeyrac?
Anonymous asked: If we’re talking Courfius, consider: Marius doting on Courfeyrac after he catches a cold from being outside in the rain for whatever reason
“You oughdn’d worry, Barius. I’ll be quide fine.”
Courfeyrac ruined the pronouncement by immediately coughing into his handkerchief. His face was blotchy, his eyes were red, and Marius was inclined to worry as much as he pleased. He stayed firmly planted in the doorway.
“What would Combeferre say if I let you go out a damp day
like this?” Marius asked. It was a serious question, and one he had no desire
to learn the answer to. Mere contemplation of it made one shudder. “Whatever it is, I’m sure I would deserve it.”
“Something aboud freedom, probably,” said Courfeyrac. “Doe man should be another’s jailer, or somesuch. He’d subbort me, beyond doubt.” He made another halfhearted pass at the door handle.
Marius caught him. “If you aren’t well enough to spout pithy
quotes about liberty at the drop of a hat, you aren’t well enough to go out,”
he said firmly.
“ ’s only a liddle cough,” complained Courfeyrac. “Dothing serious. Really, the adfrontery of some people one calls brother!”
This outburst appeared to exhaust him, and he collapsed sulkily into a chair. He kept his eyes on the door, however, and Marius knew better than to withdraw.
“Would you like me to find you a book? I can read to you, and I’ll warm you some tea.” He took an old coat off the rack and draped it over Courfeyrac, followed by several scarves and at least one hat.
The lump of clothing containing Courfeyrac continued to look affronted.
“Don’t be cross with
me,” said Marius, placing a comforting hand on what he guessed was Courfeyrac’s arm. He tried to imitate the
tone Courfeyrac used when he was making nice. “I just want to take care of you.
That isn’t so much to ask, is it? You took care of me after all, when I came to
you in need.”
Marius leaned in and pressed a light kiss against Courfeyrac’s forehead. He felt Courfeyrac settle a little, and quickly snuck a hand in the place of his mouth.
“Aha! A fever! I knew it!”
Courfeyrac groaned. “Fide! I gibe in! Probided you share by
imprisonbent, Monsieur,” – this last
pronounced with special care – “I subbose I may consent. Bud I’mb going to make
you read a romance nobel,” he added, with a clear note of satisfaction. “A cheap one.”