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There are still some things in life that remain simple, unpretentious—mundane chores that one would think far below the station of even a self-made count. But there are also so many simple things that can’t be trusted to mere servants if all else is to remain in working order. Everything in Edmond’s life has become an ongoing thread in an increasingly complex tapestry, one he must weave himself if it’s not all to come apart. So he writes letters that Bertuccio or even perhaps Ali should be doing instead, and he plans to sign his own name rather than Abbé or Lord. His one solace is that the task comes so easily that he could well complete it in his sleep, and would be done by now if not for the wholly distracting scene behind him.
He doesn’t turn to witness it again, purely out of will-power—if there’s one thing Edmond can manage, it’s denying himself the things that he wants most. It’s a practice he still indulges, mostly to keep himself sharp and also humble; if he truly drowned in all the wealth and comfort he’s acquired, he’d never accomplish anything more. So he contents himself with other senses than the sight of Albert de Morcerf sprawled out across his divan, likely still half-undressed. It’s enough to smell the rich fragrance of the young man and to hear his steady breathing. Edmond has a select few that serve him, yet is unaccustomed to them simply existing near him, at ease while he goes about his life. It is, perhaps, like the sailors he used to know before he became so very jaded, or, if he can think back without choking, how he might have once been with Albert’s mother. But he tries not to think of that, because it would dishonour them both if that were his motive.
Albert has grown into an exceedingly handsome young man all on his own. He’s charming enough, intelligent and brave, to attract Edmond’s attention without any family ties. And he waits so graciously for Edmond to complete one meticulous task after the other—he seems to understand that Edmond’s life is an ever-moving machine that can’t cease for any one affair.
Edmond is on the second to last sentence when Albert breaks the soft silence between them, asking conversationally, “Count... if I may pose a question?”
If Bertuccio or Ali interrupted him so, he wouldn’t be so gracious, but Edmond’s heart always seems to soften when Albert fills his thoughts. It’s something he guarded against at first, then slowly let crumble, because he has so few things left in the world that truly bring him pleasure, and eventually it became absurd not to take advantage of the young man’s ardor. Edmond answers without hesitation, “Of course, Albert. You always have leave to speak freely in my presence.”
“Then I implore you to do the same, and tell me if there are any others.”
Edmond’s hand pauses across the parchment. His head inclines just enough for him to glimpse Albert in his peripherals, propped against the armrest with several buttons still undone and a mass of sweat-slicked dark curls down across his forehead. His countenance is serious but still disarmed, and Edmond can guess plain enough what he means.
But Edmond never speaks plainly anymore, and so counters, “Others of what kind? You must be clear with your meaning if you want it in answer.”
Albert clarifies, “How many other men or women do you have that serve the same function as me?”
“And what function do you imagine you serve?”
Albert lets out a weary sigh, and though he can’t see it, Edmond’s smiling—another point of delight with Albert is this verbal jousting. There are some who find annoyance arguing with those cleverer than them, and some who pretend they are just as clever but have nothing useful to say. Albert is a perfect blend—he’ll say so if he finds Edmond too obtuse, but he’ll also keep pace. Today he seems tired of the game, perhaps because Edmond has already spent so much of his energy. It’s a small point of pride for Edmond that he can still dabble with one so young and strong as Albert and yet come out the one more put-together afterwards. Albert drawls, “I beg you, no more of your riddles. I mean other young men you sleep with for your fancy, but will inevitably toss away when you grow bored.”
That ends the letter. Edmond sets down his hand and turns in his chair, peering across the study. There is a frown on Albert’s plush lips, but not disappointment or anger, which does him credit. He’s as strong in spirit and mind as he is in body—another thing that drew Edmond to him. “My dear Viscount, is that really all you think yourself?”
“Certainly not, but some evenings it’s how I think you see me, and when it comes to our arrangement, that is all that matters. You know I will never be the one to leave you.”
Edmond can’t help a chuckle. Perhaps when he’s old and grey and bitter from having destroyed so many lives, Albert will finally see the monster he’s been dancing with. In the meantime, he’s absurdly pleased with Albert’s devotion. He’s sought to seek it in so many, but with this one man, it’s no manipulation—a genuine bond that’s arisen naturally enough despite all of Edmond’s schemes. He isn’t about to let it end so soon.
He rises from his chair and strolls across the study, admiring the gorgeous bounty laid out for him more with every step. Albert doesn’t straighten, merely lays there, half draped over the cushions, as Edmond descends next to him. Sitting so close that their legs touch, Edmond murmurs, “Have I not treated you well?” Before Albert can answer, Edmond leans in to brush a chaste kiss across his lips, pulling back even as Albert rises to chase the contact.
Albert answers without hesitation, “Exceedingly. I have never been lavished so, like a rich master with a pretty cat.”
Edmond chuckles again. This time he lifts his hand to Albert’s chin, grasping it and drawing Albert to him, but holding them apart just enough to prevent the kiss he wants. He can feel Albert’s breath tickling his lips and sees a shiver run down Albert’s spine, knowing the feeling’s mutual. Edmond admits, “You are a very pretty pet indeed, my sweet Albert... but also far more intelligent than any cat I have met.”
“I am to you what a cat is to a man.”
Edmond can feel himself grinning wider with every line. Out in the streets of Paris, almost all of his smiles are for show, and it’s always a strange delight to genuinely smile in his lover’s presence. Albert’s also so much more amusing than any mere animal. Forcing Albert’s eyes to him, Edmond says slow and clear: “You are more to me than that. You are not just a lovely trinket in my bed, but a worthy tactician in our conversations, an impressive soldier when we spar, and a joyous being to have by my side at any function. You are vital, virile, handsome beyond hope and wholly captivating, wise for yours years and well learned, of impeccable taste and better company. I could go on, but repeating all these things aloud makes me wonder why I am not taking you this second, and I think I had best remedy that first.”
Albert is given no chance to say any more. Edmond surges into him, kissing him so hard that he bends back, arching into the armrest. Edmond tilts and swipes across his lips, bidding entrance to his mouth, and as soon as Albert opens, Edmond’s tongue is diving in. One arm wraps around the small of Albert’s waist, using the grip to pull him down, sliding him along the cushions until he’s sprawled across it like a meal ripe for the tasting. His arms wrap around Edmond’s shoulders, though Albert does part their mouths to murmur, “Ah, this is the part where you seduce me, so that I might imagine the answer I desire rather than hear it from your lips.”
The next kiss Edmond gives is so brutal that he can feel Albert’s deep groan rumbling through him, can practically taste the want on Albert’s tongue and smell Albert’s arousal growing. Albert has warmed in his hands, and comes away hot as coals with humility and fire in his eyes. In a way, Edmond’s touched that this beautiful creature wants to be his one and only.
So he sighs and lets yet another wall down that he swore would never fall. He plainly admits, “I care for you a good deal, Monsieur Morcerf, and you are enough that I need no others, neither in my heart nor my bed.”
Surprise flitters across Albert’s chiseled features, followed by such intense awe and ecstasy that Edmond’s heart clenches. Albert’s so sturdy that it’s strange to see him melt so easily, but it’s a sight Edmond memorizes, something he’ll always treasure. Albert murmurs, “Dare I push my luck, and ask that I am in more than the bed?”
“You are in both, and too often in my thoughts as well. Now, does that suffice?”
Albert shouldn’t be happy with this. He should be out at some ball or opera, seeking the hand of a soft young woman who could give him an heir and solidify his fortune, and not lying under a vile man that thinks his logic can exempt them both from hell. But Albert looks as though he’s never belonged anywhere more, and when he nods, Edmond finds himself just as pleased.
He descends for another kiss, and wonders around the ache in his heart if he’ll ever tell Albert the real name of the man he’s pledged his heart to.