*scandalized at self*
Mar. 16th, 2008 04:19 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
maculategiraffeOh dear, oh dear. Blame this on ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
alina_kotik, who got me rereading, and then failed to shoot me down when I mentioned the possibility of fic.
Title: Most Excellent Cigars
Fandom: The Count of Monte Cristo by Alexandre Dumas
Pairing: Count of Monte Cristo/ Albert Morcerf
Word Count: 1322
Rating: Very tame, really!
Notes: Totally canon-compliant. Takes place two years after the end of the book. Forgive me, Monsieur Dumas.
"Well, what do you think of the Count of Monte Cristo?" asked Franz of his friend.
"What do I think of him?" said Albert, obviously astonished that his companion should ask him such a question. "I think he is a charming man who does the honours of his table to perfection; a man who has seen much, studied much, and thought much; who, like Brutus, belongs to the school of the Stoics, and who possesses most excellent cigars," he added appreciatively, sending out a whiff of smoke which rose to the ceiling in spirals.
"But did you notice how attentively he looked at you?"
"At me?"
"Yes."
Albert thought for a moment.
"Ah, that is not surprising," he said with a sigh. "I have been away from Paris for nearly a year, and my clothes must have become old-fashioned. The Count probably thinks I come from the provinces..."
-Alexandre Dumas, The Count of Monte Cristo
"Can it be?" Albert gasped, and with a quick motion, stepped forward and seized both of the Count's hands in his. "Can it really be my mother's friend and mine, the Count of Monte Cristo?"
Dantès could scarcely credit his eyes. He had braced himself for the ruin that two years of hardship in the regiments of the Spahis might have made of Albert; Mercédès' own loveliness, after all, had withered under no heavier strain than that of her own unhappy thoughts. But her son's beauty seemed to have been made of stronger stuff. No grief, remorse, or self-pity had hollowed the young viscount's fresh countenance or dulled the bright gaze he turned on his friend, though hard work and privation, with the fierce African sun, had burned away his childish prettiness, darkening his skin to a bronzed glow and sharpening his cheekbones. Yet the native grace and gentleness of his bearing were intact, and the lad's grip gave the impression of great strength without brutality.
"It is I, indeed," he managed huskily, "and the bearer of glad news, Albert. Your term of service has ended, and if you will have me as your traveling companion, I am to accompany you to France, and to the arms of your dear mother, who has charged me with your safety on the homeward journey."
"My mother!" Albert cried. "Have you news of her? Her last letter came more than two months ago-- oh, Count, for any love you bear her or me, tell me that she is well!"
"She was well when I left her-- well, and living every day in expectation of seeing her dear son again. If no letter has reached you in two months, it is little wonder, for I have been nearly that time in finding your regiment myself. I was beginning to think she had set me an impossible task."
"Ah," Albert sighed, shaking tears of joy from his eyes, "but nothing is impossible to the Count of Monte Cristo!"
The passage home promised to be far more enjoyable for Dantès than the long and weary search for Albert's regiment; not only had he the assurance of reuniting Mercédès with her beloved son in short order, but he had the pleasure of the lad's own company. Albert was as merry and brilliant a companion in the luxurious cabin of the Count's private yacht as he had been in Parisian drawing rooms and Italian bandits' lairs alike, and the Count took an undeniable and almost sensual delight in the sight of the younger man enjoying his first fine cigar since he had been posted to Algeria two years before.
"Pray, Count," he asked presently, appearing to notice that they were both reclining amongst the cushions of what had once been Haydee's private residence, "what have you done with the little princess, Mademoiselle Innocence? I sincerely hope you have not tired of her and sold her to some seraglio, as the Arabian romances assure us is so sadly often the case, when a slave girl's youthful charms cease to arouse her jaded master's appetites!"
The young man's jesting tone could not conceal his real concern for Haydee, and the Count hastened to reassure him even as he smiled.
"On the contrary," he said, "in this case, it is the master whose charms palled on his slave. Haydee's fancy for me was always that of an orphan seeking a father's love and care, and though I gave both to her as long as I could, I fulfilled my paternal duty in the end by joining my darling's hand with that of an estimable young man who will give her every happiness. When I lifted Haydee's veil at the altar to give her a father's kiss, she bade farewell to her slavery and her surrogate father alike, though she writes with a most filial regularity. I am told they are already expecting a child, who is not to know he is the scion of Ali Pasha's unhappy line, as Haydee wishes to leave her past behind her and raise free sons and daughters to her country-- a country no less beloved to her, as I hope I was not the less beloved a father, for being adopted."
"I am most glad to hear it," was Albert's sincere reply. "And you, Count? Have you not found a companion in the time since, to share your romantic existence, and all these fine and private pleasures?"
The Count was forced to confess that he had not.
"What a pity," said the viscount dreamily, and breathed out a mouthful of smoke. "I myself have generally found a pleasure doubled for being shared with a close comrade-- and, of course, there are those pleasures which can only be enjoyed in-- shall I say, in company?"
The Count was a little shocked by Albert's frankness; though he did not speak coarsely, there could be little doubt of his meaning.
"My life is a lonely one at times," he admitted, somewhat cautiously, "but, knowing that, it would be all the harder to ask a gentle and modest lady, of the sort on whom these refined enjoyments should not be lost, to share in it. Haydee was too loving, too innocent, and too conscious of the debt she owed me, not to indulge my wanderlust-- and yet even she grew discontented with it in the end. I am too old to change my ways, Viscount-- and not quite romantic enough, any longer, to believe that any lady thinks the world well lost if she can only sail the seas with her heart's liege lord."
"Indeed," Albert agreed, blowing a pensive smoke ring at the ceiling, "your life, my friend, is no life for a lady. And yet-- must that mean it cannot be shared?"
"Except with servants," the Count returned, puzzled, "and with the occasional friendly visitor, such as yourself-- if no lady may be found to be the mistress of my heart and home, I confess I cannot imagine who can."
"My dear count," said Albert, his eyes narrowed, whether against the smoke of his cigar or with some private mirth, "I have seen too many of its artistic and whimsical fruits already to believe your imagination so limited as all that. I will admit that when dancing the galop, there is nothing like the gentle curve of a woman's waist in the crook of one's arm, nothing so graceful as the lifting of a skirt as one whirls one's partner round the floor. But, to be sure, there are other angles of the human body which the experienced arm may find scarcely less pleasing-- and there are other dances."
The Count found himself swallowing hard as the boy, with Mercédès' soft, melting dark eyes in his fair, frank countenance, extinguished his cigar and moved closer, putting a lean hand on his companion's thigh.
"Shall I teach you?" Albert asked quietly.
"Teach me--!" Dantès moved back sharply on his cushion, dislodging the impertinent hand. "And where, pray, have you learned such dances? One would scarcely have taken you for a sailor-- nor for an ancient Greek." Though God knows your features might have been chiseled by the hand of Michaelangelo. The Count tried hard not to let the vision of the sculpted David on its pedestal descend lower than the neck. The cut of Albert's fancifully embroidered uniform revealed far too many of his muscular young body's planes and-- and angles-- as it was.
"Why," said Albert lazily, not moving in pursuit, though the Count fancied he caught a gleam of laughter in the dark eyes as the boy took in his companion's involuntary glance, "though I must admit I have never sailed the seven seas, nor yet had the pleasure of discussing high philosophy whilst fondling a sweet pubescent stripling at some gathering of like-minded Athenian gentlemen-- neither, my dear Count, do I come from the provinces."
alina_kotik, who got me rereading, and then failed to shoot me down when I mentioned the possibility of fic.Title: Most Excellent Cigars
Fandom: The Count of Monte Cristo by Alexandre Dumas
Pairing: Count of Monte Cristo/ Albert Morcerf
Word Count: 1322
Rating: Very tame, really!
Notes: Totally canon-compliant. Takes place two years after the end of the book. Forgive me, Monsieur Dumas.
"Well, what do you think of the Count of Monte Cristo?" asked Franz of his friend.
"What do I think of him?" said Albert, obviously astonished that his companion should ask him such a question. "I think he is a charming man who does the honours of his table to perfection; a man who has seen much, studied much, and thought much; who, like Brutus, belongs to the school of the Stoics, and who possesses most excellent cigars," he added appreciatively, sending out a whiff of smoke which rose to the ceiling in spirals.
"But did you notice how attentively he looked at you?"
"At me?"
"Yes."
Albert thought for a moment.
"Ah, that is not surprising," he said with a sigh. "I have been away from Paris for nearly a year, and my clothes must have become old-fashioned. The Count probably thinks I come from the provinces..."
-Alexandre Dumas, The Count of Monte Cristo
"Can it be?" Albert gasped, and with a quick motion, stepped forward and seized both of the Count's hands in his. "Can it really be my mother's friend and mine, the Count of Monte Cristo?"
Dantès could scarcely credit his eyes. He had braced himself for the ruin that two years of hardship in the regiments of the Spahis might have made of Albert; Mercédès' own loveliness, after all, had withered under no heavier strain than that of her own unhappy thoughts. But her son's beauty seemed to have been made of stronger stuff. No grief, remorse, or self-pity had hollowed the young viscount's fresh countenance or dulled the bright gaze he turned on his friend, though hard work and privation, with the fierce African sun, had burned away his childish prettiness, darkening his skin to a bronzed glow and sharpening his cheekbones. Yet the native grace and gentleness of his bearing were intact, and the lad's grip gave the impression of great strength without brutality.
"It is I, indeed," he managed huskily, "and the bearer of glad news, Albert. Your term of service has ended, and if you will have me as your traveling companion, I am to accompany you to France, and to the arms of your dear mother, who has charged me with your safety on the homeward journey."
"My mother!" Albert cried. "Have you news of her? Her last letter came more than two months ago-- oh, Count, for any love you bear her or me, tell me that she is well!"
"She was well when I left her-- well, and living every day in expectation of seeing her dear son again. If no letter has reached you in two months, it is little wonder, for I have been nearly that time in finding your regiment myself. I was beginning to think she had set me an impossible task."
"Ah," Albert sighed, shaking tears of joy from his eyes, "but nothing is impossible to the Count of Monte Cristo!"
The passage home promised to be far more enjoyable for Dantès than the long and weary search for Albert's regiment; not only had he the assurance of reuniting Mercédès with her beloved son in short order, but he had the pleasure of the lad's own company. Albert was as merry and brilliant a companion in the luxurious cabin of the Count's private yacht as he had been in Parisian drawing rooms and Italian bandits' lairs alike, and the Count took an undeniable and almost sensual delight in the sight of the younger man enjoying his first fine cigar since he had been posted to Algeria two years before.
"Pray, Count," he asked presently, appearing to notice that they were both reclining amongst the cushions of what had once been Haydee's private residence, "what have you done with the little princess, Mademoiselle Innocence? I sincerely hope you have not tired of her and sold her to some seraglio, as the Arabian romances assure us is so sadly often the case, when a slave girl's youthful charms cease to arouse her jaded master's appetites!"
The young man's jesting tone could not conceal his real concern for Haydee, and the Count hastened to reassure him even as he smiled.
"On the contrary," he said, "in this case, it is the master whose charms palled on his slave. Haydee's fancy for me was always that of an orphan seeking a father's love and care, and though I gave both to her as long as I could, I fulfilled my paternal duty in the end by joining my darling's hand with that of an estimable young man who will give her every happiness. When I lifted Haydee's veil at the altar to give her a father's kiss, she bade farewell to her slavery and her surrogate father alike, though she writes with a most filial regularity. I am told they are already expecting a child, who is not to know he is the scion of Ali Pasha's unhappy line, as Haydee wishes to leave her past behind her and raise free sons and daughters to her country-- a country no less beloved to her, as I hope I was not the less beloved a father, for being adopted."
"I am most glad to hear it," was Albert's sincere reply. "And you, Count? Have you not found a companion in the time since, to share your romantic existence, and all these fine and private pleasures?"
The Count was forced to confess that he had not.
"What a pity," said the viscount dreamily, and breathed out a mouthful of smoke. "I myself have generally found a pleasure doubled for being shared with a close comrade-- and, of course, there are those pleasures which can only be enjoyed in-- shall I say, in company?"
The Count was a little shocked by Albert's frankness; though he did not speak coarsely, there could be little doubt of his meaning.
"My life is a lonely one at times," he admitted, somewhat cautiously, "but, knowing that, it would be all the harder to ask a gentle and modest lady, of the sort on whom these refined enjoyments should not be lost, to share in it. Haydee was too loving, too innocent, and too conscious of the debt she owed me, not to indulge my wanderlust-- and yet even she grew discontented with it in the end. I am too old to change my ways, Viscount-- and not quite romantic enough, any longer, to believe that any lady thinks the world well lost if she can only sail the seas with her heart's liege lord."
"Indeed," Albert agreed, blowing a pensive smoke ring at the ceiling, "your life, my friend, is no life for a lady. And yet-- must that mean it cannot be shared?"
"Except with servants," the Count returned, puzzled, "and with the occasional friendly visitor, such as yourself-- if no lady may be found to be the mistress of my heart and home, I confess I cannot imagine who can."
"My dear count," said Albert, his eyes narrowed, whether against the smoke of his cigar or with some private mirth, "I have seen too many of its artistic and whimsical fruits already to believe your imagination so limited as all that. I will admit that when dancing the galop, there is nothing like the gentle curve of a woman's waist in the crook of one's arm, nothing so graceful as the lifting of a skirt as one whirls one's partner round the floor. But, to be sure, there are other angles of the human body which the experienced arm may find scarcely less pleasing-- and there are other dances."
The Count found himself swallowing hard as the boy, with Mercédès' soft, melting dark eyes in his fair, frank countenance, extinguished his cigar and moved closer, putting a lean hand on his companion's thigh.
"Shall I teach you?" Albert asked quietly.
"Teach me--!" Dantès moved back sharply on his cushion, dislodging the impertinent hand. "And where, pray, have you learned such dances? One would scarcely have taken you for a sailor-- nor for an ancient Greek." Though God knows your features might have been chiseled by the hand of Michaelangelo. The Count tried hard not to let the vision of the sculpted David on its pedestal descend lower than the neck. The cut of Albert's fancifully embroidered uniform revealed far too many of his muscular young body's planes and-- and angles-- as it was.
"Why," said Albert lazily, not moving in pursuit, though the Count fancied he caught a gleam of laughter in the dark eyes as the boy took in his companion's involuntary glance, "though I must admit I have never sailed the seven seas, nor yet had the pleasure of discussing high philosophy whilst fondling a sweet pubescent stripling at some gathering of like-minded Athenian gentlemen-- neither, my dear Count, do I come from the provinces."
