Page 60 of Love Beneath the Guillotine
Henry kissed him, and it felt so good, because just for those few heated, precious, wonderful seconds, Léon let him. His body fell limp in the grasp Henry had on his arms. Léon let out something akin to a whimper and he almost, maybe, just for a moment, let his own lips touch Henry’s willingly.
But then he pulled back, abject horror written in every beautiful line of his expression. He raised his hand, swung it back, and brought it down with a sharp and resounding slap across Henry’s cheek.
It would be hard to say which of the pair was more shocked. Léon had made his stance clear well in advance, so perhaps Henry should have seen that coming. But even Léon was takenaback by the violence, not only of the action, but of the emotion that had made him do it.
For several fiery beats, the two stood right there, mouths open, staring into one another’s eyes, heaving in deep breaths. And Léon, feeling all the tumult of the moment rising to his eyes, wanted Henry gone. He wanted him out of the way and far from the tears he knew he couldn’t stop. He raised his hand, and he brought it down even harder than before. Henry’s head snapped across with the blow, but this time, his eyes sparked. He warned Léon, low and sharp, “Don’t try that again.”
But Léon, as if his hand was pulled by an invisible string, raised it. His upper lip curled back, and he put all the enviable strength of his great biceps into this one.
He brought it down, hard and fast, but Henry caught it. He caught Léon by the wrist, curling his fingers around him, iron-like, in a painful grip. He twisted it behind Léon’s back and shoved him against the wall. He pinned Léon’s other hand at the forearm, and crushed him to the bare stone with his powerful chest.
Léon sucked in all the thin and wavering air the press afforded him, which was precious little, and made him almost as dizzy as Henry’s unprecedented proximity.
Henry’s eyes were fire—pure, unadulterated anger in the flickering muscles of his cheek and the bruising grasp of his hands. He moved in close, his breath on Léon’s lips, the heat of his body everywhere, his thigh against Léon’s thigh, and Léon thought, ‘Please, God, let him kiss me.’
If he only kissed him now, holding him like that, the barrier would break. And how he willed him to. Begged with everything but his voice. Because if Henry did it, he could make Léon let go of their past. Force it from him. Make him give in, with all the arrogance and bravery and flinty-heartedness that Léon was sure made up so much of Henry’s character. It was thatfierceness, that boldness, that he was counting on to free him, because even as he begged for him, he was so terribly ashamed. How could he want this man so badly? After everything he’d done, how could Léon adore him so?
With lips so close that the slightest movement of Léon’s would have brought them to touch, Henry said, “You hate me?”
‘No,’ Léon might have said. ‘I adore you and I hate myself for it.’ But he couldn’t bring himself to form the words.
So Henry filled the silence for him: “Well, I hate you too.” His voice was poison, brittle and acrid, every letter of the message delivered so sharply it was like a knife in Léon’s gut. Then he dealt the killing blow. “I just thought you’d be an easy fuck.”
The way Henry’s lips swept over the white teeth of that malevolent smile…
Revulsion and pain shot through Léon. He’d been so close to giving in. And he’d been so, so wrong. That kiss that he’d wanted, that he’d allowed, felt like filth in his mouth.
Henry didn’t release Léon, even though he tried to break free. He only gripped him tighter when he struggled, so tight his unrelenting fingers turned Léon’s pale flesh purple. He lowered his deep voice, dragging his golden gaze across Léon’s vulnerable skin, over every feature of his angelic face, until he shot a parting, “What a waste of those lips you are.”
“Get off me,” Léon whispered, for his voice had escaped him.
He turned his head away, but still Henry held him, watching the averted eyes just for good measure. A final show of cruelty to really drive the point home: he neither wanted nor needed Léon. Léon was nothing to Henry. And Henry had the power to choose if he’d take another kiss, whether Léon liked it or not, and he chose not to. Léon would know that Henry didn’t want him.
And there, before his eyes, Léon crumpled.
The boy who was so brave and so strong, who killed for a living, tilted his head down to his own shoulder and cried.
Henry had expected more of the same—the same stupid song the pair had been playing since the day they’d met. He’d expected sharp words or a physical fight. And it wasn’t until just then he realised how wrong he’d been about Léon. That there had been an ancient and crumbling wall between Léon and all the brutality of the world, and Henry had unwittingly dug a hole beneath it and smashed the lot.
“Get off me.” Léon repeated the request with even less heart than the last time, and Henry dropped his hands.
Léon stood a moment longer, not sure where to go. Out there to Émile and Souveraine, crying? What would they say? But here was Henry, who he’d managed to find a new depth of hatred for. Who hated him in equal measure. Who he was so ashamed to cry in front of. And now he’d done it.
“I didn’t mean it,” said Henry. “It was… just… stupid words. Fuck, Léon?—”
Léon shoved him back three full feet, shouting, “That’s exactly you! It’s not because of you! Do you really think I’d cry over you? I don’t even like you!”
Henry, who by now was both repentant and bewildered, said, “I know. I know you don’t.”
“I can’t stand you!” Léon yelled.
“Yeah, you mentioned that,” Henry replied sympathetically.
“And I’m really tired.” Léon drew shaking fingers through his plentiful blond locks, voice trembling, weakening to a sorrowful whine. “And I’ve barely slept in days.”
“I know.” Henry nodded his head, veering as close to supplication as he ever got. “That’s my fault. I take full responsibility for that.”
“And I’m just having a really shit week,” Léon sobbed, pressing fingers against his eyes. “I want to go home. I want to go to bed, and I want to sleep. And I want it to be just the same asit was before I ever met you. Like I’d never met you. And I’d like to go now.”
