#stanfou

[lordedlady]

2017 was such a great year

[ewa-jednak-chce-spac]

[tubofskippy]

so.... y’all know the village people were famously gay, right?

[ilovestanfou]

Stanley if Gaston was alive and he found out that Gaston truly betrayed Lefou during the fight at the Beast’s castle:

[jathis]

More Stanfou from @caariosamu!

[lordazazel23]

Stranger again (sorry xD it's Not funny anymore) have you ever drawn Stanley... If Not: :D why Not draw nsfw Stanley and LeFou. Something soft and lovely. ❤️

Hehehe

Full pic on my NSFW Instagram account @/LordAsmodeus23

[thoughtfulphilosopherhologram]

The way you said “I love you.“ prompt 10 : Not said to me

Stanley était rentré tôt de l’atelier. Il fut étonné de ne pas voir LeFou dans le salon, à entretenir ses armes ou s’exercer à lire, mais fut rassuré en entendant du bruit à l’étage. LeFou s’était enfin décidé à faire un peu de rangement ! Stanley approcha à pas de loup pour surprendre son compagnon, mais quelque chose l’arrêta.

Par la porte entrebâillée, il le vit sortir un coffret, qu’il posa sur le lit avant de l’ouvrir. Il en sortit une longue natte de cheveux du même brun que les siens, un nœud papillon de la même facture que ceux qu’il portait d’ordinaire, mais celui-là était vert bouteille et passablement usé ; et enfin, un châle de laine blanche qui avait connu des jours meilleurs. LeFou baisa les trois objets comme des reliques.

- Bonjour papa, bonjour maman, bonjour grand-maman.

Stanley pâlit. LeFou ne lui parlait que très rarement de sa famille. On savait, dans Villeneuve, que LeFou s’était vite retrouvé orphelin, d’abord de père, puis de mère quelques mois plus tard, à l’âge tendre. Les fièvres faisaient à l’époque des ravages. La grand-mère de LeFou s’était occupée de lui jusqu’à ses quinze ans, moment où une mauvaise grippe l’avait emportée, le laissant tout à fait seul au monde.

- Je vous ai laissés seuls depuis bien longtemps, je m’en excuse. Comme vous voyez, j’essaie de faire vivre notre maison de mon mieux. Enfin, de *notre* mieux, corrigea-t-il. Je suis en ménage, avec la meilleure personne qui soit au monde.

Stanley vit LeFou caresser le châle, la tresse, le nœud papillon. Son cœur se serra quand il vit des larmes briller dans les yeux de LeFou.

- Je… Je voudrais tant me dire que de là où vous êtes, vous êtes fiers de moi, mais je l’ignore et cette incertitude me plonge dans une terrible angoisse. Papa, tu m’as dit qu’un homme prenait ses responsabilités en main, alors j’ai tenté de le faire au mieux et je me suis engagé à la guerre, pour défendre mon pays. Je voudrais me dire que j’ai fait mon devoir, mais les cauchemars me tourmentent encore, des années après. C’est un prix bien lourd à payer, tu sais, de ne plus dormir d’un bon somme pour avoir voulu être un homme…

LeFou, en effet, souffrait de cauchemars fréquents. En général, Stanley lui chuchotait à l’oreille et lui caressait les bras et les cheveux pour le calmer. C’était encore ce qui marchait le mieux. Ou alors, le réveiller et espérer que les images de son rêve ne soient pas encore imprimées dans son esprit.

- Maman, reprit LeFou, tu me disais que tu voulais guérir et rencontrer ma fiancée, une fois que je serais grand. Je… Je suis tellement désolé, maman. Je ne suis pas comme les autres. J’aurais voulu te donner une gentille bru qui t’aurait donné des petits-enfants, mais ce… Ce n’est pas dans ma nature, maman. Je ne sais pas comment tu aurais réagi si tu avais vécu assez longtemps pour le réaliser, murmura LeFou, qui commençait à pleurer tout à fait. Je suis un mauvais fils. Et pourtant…

LeFou eut un sanglot, Stanley, lui, luttait contre ses propres larmes.

- Pourtant, maman, j’aurais tellement voulu te présenter Stanley. C’est le plus bel homme du monde, et le meilleur compagnon, ami, amant, qu’on puisse souhaiter dans la vie. Il est la plus belle chose qui me soit arrivée, maman. Il est un cadeau somptueux que je ne mérite pas, je sais que je ne suis pas digne de lui. Et malgré tout, il me rend heureux comme jamais je n’aurais cru l’être.

Stanley tamponna ses yeux de son mouchoir. LeFou passa la main sur la laine du châle.

- Grand-maman, tu m’as quitté bien tôt, toi aussi. Tu disais toujours qu’un foyer est la chose la plus importante qui soit. Un toit sur la tête, et une famille aimante pour le partager. J’ai fait de mon mieux, je t’assure. Je sais, je ne plie pas les draps comme tu le faisais, je laisse trop souvent les navets périr dans le cellier et la soupe que je prépare n’est pas moitié aussi bonne que la tienne, mais je fais de mon mieux. La famille que j’ai créée n’est pas comme les autres, mais c’est la mienne. J’aime un homme, qui me rend heureux. Nous avons des amis qui viennent souvent nous rendre visite. Certes, ces parquets ne résonnent pas de cavalcades de tout petits pieds et de cris d’enfants, mais je suis heureux tout de même. J’aurais tellement voulu vous rendre fiers de moi, fit LeFou à travers ses larmes. Je… Je me suis retrouvé tout seul si jeune. J’avais encore besoin de vous trois. J’ai fait ce que j’ai pu et je suis écrasé par la certitude que ce n’était pas suffisant. Je vous demande pardon.

LeFou pleura encore quelques instants, puis se moucha, et replaça chacun des objets dans le coffret.

- Papa, maman, grand-maman, je vous aime.

À peine eut-il refermé le coffret que Stanley l’enlaça par-derrière, en larmes, lui aussi.

- Ils sont fiers de toi, mon amour. Je t’assure qu’ils sont fiers de toi, chuchota-t-il à l’oreille de LeFou. N’importe qui avec deux sous de bon sens vendrait son bras droit pour t’avoir comme fils. Il n’y a personne d’aussi dévoué, aimant et avec un sens du devoir comme toi au monde. C’est moi qui ai une chance folle de t’avoir à mes côtés.

LeFou se retourna et enlaça Stanley. Ils restèrent un long moment ainsi.

Le coffret, lui, finit par retourner à sa place.

[winxixia]

A few weeks ago, I noticed I reached 100 followers on Tumblr, and it made me very happy! So I decided to work on a special post. But I took my time and realized it's @alexisloizon 's birthday today. So I decided to split my special post into several.

I start today with Stanley and LeFou from the Beauty and the Beast remake. It's an important movie for me as I really joined the Art community thanks to it and I made amazing friends.

Happy birthday Alexis! Joyeux anniversaire ! Et merci d'être aussi adorable avec vos fans !

For everyone else, I'm still working on a few pieces and I may add some more! Your favorites are on their way 😉

You can leave guesses or suggestions in the comments if you want to see them and aren't sure I'm going to do them!

I really want to thank you all for following me so I want to do this for you. It's especially about the ships I posted on my Tumblr but I may add some if I like them.

I hope you all have a good day!

First Part - Second part - In progress

RedBubble Store

[lumiereswig]

I hear our favourite candelabra needs prompts--here's one suggestion: Belle messing with magic again finds one that puts the universe into reverse (i.e. heading alarmingly fast toward the big bang. Could be kinda crack-y.)

“Dammit,” hisses Belle. “Why did I put that down? Silly idiot.”

“What’s wrong?” asks Adam, looking over the breakfast sandwiches.

“I put the wrong thing in the crossword—it’s not ‘rabbit,’ it’s ‘iguana'—”

“Can I ask how you came to both of those from the same clue?”

“In a minute. I have to, um, do something. Check on my hair. Powder my nose.” She gets up from the table, bang out the door, clatters up the stairs.

It occurs to Adam a few moments too late that his wife never checks on her hair.

“You could just use white-out,” says Stanley, standing awkwardly in the royal bedroom while Belle lays out books and pens and far, far too many candelabras. He tries not to get unnerved by the presence of a goat.

“Shh! I’ve been dying to try this spell for a while—don’t tell Adam—and anyway, it won’t hurt. I’m just sending us back in time to ten minutes ago, before I wrote down the wrong answer and spoiled my crossword. This time I’ll write iguana, and then we’ll go on merrily like this never happened. Which it won’t, because we won’t be doing this, because I’ll have got my crossword right in that timeline.”

Stanley blinks. He hates abstract thought.

“You need to be here because I can’t do the spell by myself,” says Belle. “You’ve got to stand there and do as I tell you—I’ll be busy giving the incantation my best shot, and waving these candles in a particular pattern.”

“But Belle, I need to go talk to LeFou—I think he wants to break up with me, he’s been so strange and distant lately—”

“I’m so sorry, but we’ve got to do this now. I need to save my crossword. Ready? Great.”

Ignoring that Stanley was absolutely not ready, Belle began reciting.

“Time’s wheel spins ever on anon, An axel round a broken frame—here, Stanley, spin in a circle, that’s right—a word awry can break the song and help us tell the time again—raise your arms, quick! Good, now spin counter clockwise—do pick up that goat, he’s supposed to do it with you—break the time and tell us all, how to play the game aright—hold that quill, Stanley, I’ve already dipped it in the ink for you—write the wrong and bind it tight, while backwards and backwards do we fall. Now, Stanley, now! Write ten on that paper, big as you can, and dot it at the end.”

Stanley, blanched, puts pen to paper, scrawling out a sign.

Immediately, all the candles in the room go out. It’s dark as hell.

“There we go! Bit darker than I expected, since it was only morning when we began…but I’m sure it’ll pass in a moment.”

It doesn’t pass. If anything, it gets darker.

“You quite sure you wrote ten, didn’t you, Stan?” says Belle, trying not to sound a little scared.

“I can’t write,” says Stanley bleakly. “You didn’t tell me when this started that it would involve WRITING.”

“What!” Belle grabs the paper, holding it to the blackened window to make out the scrawl. “What did you—oh, no, this should be all right! You did write a ten—oh, no.”

“What?” cries Stanley.

Belle holds the paper up. At the top sits Stanley’s lonely, shaky “10"—and unfurling below it, in endless curlicues and damning spirals, are more and more “0"s.

"You didn’t dot it at the end, did you, Stan?”

“No,” he squeaks.

Belle tries to dot the paper now, but the pen springs off, with a singing smell like lightning. The zeroes keep going. So, too, does the dark.

“Well!” says Belle. “All right. This is fine. This is absolutely fine. It can’t keep going back through time forever—and after all, nothing bad has happened yet, so maybe it didn’t take.”

The sun sets, backwards, behind her.

“Evening, Belle,” says Adam, jauntily getting out of bed, where he wasn’t a moment ago. “Ready for tomorrow’s crossword? I know you wait all week for the Sunday ones.”

“But today was Monday…”

“Hello, Stanley, you here as well? How’s LeFou?” Adam, somehow walking backwards without looking, puts on his slippers.

“Um, fine—how are you…?”

“Glad to hear it. He was telling me a few weeks ago how sad he’s been, he’s noticed you haven’t said ‘i love you yet’ and he wonders—what are you staring at me for, Belle?”

“Do you always spit, then brush your teeth, then put the toothpaste on—in that order?”

“What are you talking about? Nice long day we had, though, wasn’t it?”

“What?”

“Yes, I think so too. I’ll go to bed in a few minutes, I haven’t brushed my teeth yet—” And, still yammering on with all the exhaustion of a happy evening, Adam left the room—still walking backwards.

“Quick,” says Belle, “get the candles and the goat back out, maybe if we do this spell in reverse we can stop it.”

“They’ve all disappeared!” says Stanley. “They weren’t here last night, were they?”

“Damn, no, I only put them in here this morning—though it’s actually yesterday evening now—moving rapidly into yesterday afternoon. Drat! And where’s the spell book?”

“Wherever it was yesterday, I suppose.”

“All right, okay.” Belle breathes deeply. It’s already looking alarmingly like morning outside. “We just run and get the book from wherever it was yesterday—I think the library—and look for a spell that gets time moving forward again.”

“Please. I hate this.” Stanley watches, horrified, as the crown prince of the land shuffles back in, yawning and evidently very much still asleep, and pours his cup of coffee back into the pot.

“Right, library, quick as you can,” says Belle, prodding Stanley. “It’ll be the day before yesterday before we know it.”

“You’re up early,” Adam mumbles, slowly dragging himself back into bed. He’s already sleeping by the time they’re running off.

Throughout the palace, Stanley and Belle have to drag each other quite frequently past the interesting sights invading the palace’s sense of time. Cuisinier unmaking a steaming pot of soup, chopping its ingredients into whole onions and carrots and transforming a boiling liquid back into a pat of butter—Mrs. Potts carefully ruining her made bed, rumpling the covers and wrinkling her pillow cases—Chip sliding up the banisters.

“We’re nearly to the library, quick, the days are going faster,” pants Belle. “I just saw Father start a painting he finished days ago. We must be several days back now—”

“I just think maybe he doesn’t love me!” says LeFou’s voice, shockingly close.

Stanley hammers to a standstill, ignoring Belle. “Come on, Stanley, we have to go!”

“We haven’t kissed, or anything,” says LeFou.

Stanley dashes into the next room, Belle fast on his tail. They plow in too quickly; the game of chess Adam and LeFou were busy in topples to the floor, its pieces rolling and bouncing.

“Oh, hello, Stanley,” cries Adam. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”

“Did you really say you don’t think I love you?!” cries Stanley to Lefou.

“Didn’t you say you talked to LeFou about this weeks ago?!” cries Belle. “How fast is time moving?”

“When did I say that?” say Adam and LeFou, both sounding shocked. And rightly too; LeFou hadn’t said anything to Adam about Stanley yet—not until the end of their chess game, which now stood perfectly laid out on the table, only one pawn moved.

“Stanley, we’ve got to go, a few weeks have passed and I thought it was only days,” whispers Belle. “You can talk to LeFou when we get back!”

“He thinks I don’t love him, he told Adam! I do love you—”

“And it won’t make any difference now, they’re going backwards and wouldn’t remember anything we told them anyway!”

“Should we play chess, your Highness?” asks LeFou, gesturing to the unpacked box of chess pieces. “Oh, hello, Stanley, I didn’t see you here, when did you come in?”

“Come on,” says Belle, yanking Stanley out the door.

They reach the library, somehow, though how they do it—around Plumette waltzing backwards, between an argument of Cogsworth’s and Lumiere’s that begins with agreement and ends with a fight, and through Chapeau playing a cacophony that might, right-way-round, be a gorgeous sonata—seems too impossible to reason with. They find the library, at least, and Belle snatches up her book.

“Quick, quick!” says Stanley. “I don’t like the look of things.”

“You don’t like the look of things?! I’m trying to find a spell, working practically in the dark! Where’d the light go, anyway? It can’t be night again already—”

“Um,” says Stanley. “I think it’s worse.”

Belle looks up from feverishly scanning the index. “Who set the books on fire?!!”

A chattering, screaming mob, running backwards, quickly takes the fire back onto their own torches. Yelling, they retreat into the darkened hall, where the sounds of a sentient wardrobe launching upwards to the upper balcony can be heard.

“We’re back into the days of the curse?! No!” Belle runs her finger down the page. “We’ve got to solve this, quick, before it gets any more horrible—”

“Yes! Yes, we do,” says Stanley decisively. He stomps out to the hallway, throws the door open. Ignores the specter of himself standing up on the upper landing, resplendent in a bright pink dress. “LeFou! LeFou. I see you, under that harpsichord. And I want everyone to know that I. LOVE. YOU.”

Even the mob, intent as they are in traveling back in time, stop to gape at him.

“That’s all very well,” mutters Belle, “but I think a good spell might help out the words of true love right now—”

But before she can say another word, everything creaks—and groans—the sound of a mighty wheel is heard, turning and turning despite its broken frame—and suddenly the castle is sprouting with life, ringing with bells, and life is moving very quickly forward.

Stanley and Belle stand back as a hatstand transforms into Chapeau, as a dance is held in the main hall, as Belle marries Adam, as Maurice finishes his painting, as Chip slides down the banister right-side-up. LeFou and Adam play a game of chess; LeFou tells Adam how content he is with Stanley, how proud he is of him for making his affections so clear at such a pivotal moment. Somewhere, Cuisinier is baking bread for tomorrow’s breakfast. Adam gets ready for bed.

“Evening, Belle. Hello, Stanley, you here as well? Nice long day we had, though, wasn’t it?”

“Long in more ways than one,” says Belle, watching Adam brush his teeth.

“Yes, I suppose so. Ready for tomorrow’s crossword? I know you wait all week for the Sunday ones.”

“Yes, though—oh, no! Stanley, do you think time will let me off ten minutes early?”

The sun sets. The sun rises. There is a goat and candelabras.

Stanley grabs the spell book and throws it into the fire. With a great big sizzling thump, time stops—and then starts again, the candles glowing, the goat gnawing on the quill pen, everything at exactly the right pace.

“Damn, we’re back where we started. Good thing I had you along, though, Stan, wasn’t it? If it weren’t for you proclaiming that you love LeFou, we’d still be going back in time.”

“Yes, I guess true love does break all spells.” He sees Belle’s look. “And no, that does not mean I’ll accompany you next time you do magic, just so I can save your ass by screaming ‘I love you’ at just the right moment.”

“Fine,” says Belle. “Can you fetch the white-out?”

“Sure, I—”

But Stanley is interrupted from his task by LeFou coming in, smiling radiantly. He embraces Stanley, pecking him on the cheek, adjusting his shirt affectionately.

“Hello, Stanley! You look wonderful when you blush.”

“Do I really?”

“Oh, yes. It reminds me of that other blush-filled time…..when you yelled to the whole village how you loved me! In the middle of a battle! My hero.”

“Am I?” If he wasn’t blushing before, he sure is now.

“Oh, yes—it was so romantic—I’d never heard those words before, before you said them.” He kisses Stanley, softly. “I love you, too.”

Stanley and LeFou leave the room, arm in arm, glowing. Belle surveys her damage.

“I guess I’d better get this goat back to the village….”

“Belle!” Adam sprints into the room, breakfast sandwich still in hand. “Belle, you’re not doing magic, are you? As soon as you left I realized—checking your hair, what a silly lie—oh, no, thank goodness. I must have caught you before you could do anything. It’s only been a few minutes, anyway!” He laughs in relief. “So you couldn’t have done anything ridiculous.”

Belle smiles and wipes the sweat off her face. “Nope. Nothing ridiculous at all.”

[ginnyweatherby]

Slowly but surely, my muse seems to be returning.

I fully admit that this is a very loose use of the prompt, but it will have to do.   Still, here’s a wartime story, with a bit of implied Stanley/Lefou because I will never stop writing them.

Day 5:  Voyage

The town square was bustling with noise and excitement.  A large crowd had formed in the center, while loud, patriotic music competed with interested chatter.

Stanley squeezed through, curious what all the commotion was about.  He was thankful for the recent growth spurt that allowed him to peer over the heads of the townspeople, while the younger children nearby stood on tiptoes to catch a glimpse.

He found the source of the music was a band formed in the gazebo, playing their horns as proudly as they could, with little Tricolour paper flowers pinned to their lapels.  Bands didn't often play in town, usually only on holidays, or in small gatherings at the tavern and parties.  What was it that made that day special?

Then he saw them.

Rows upon rows of young men on their horses, dressed in brand-new uniforms, complete with muskets strapped to their backs.  It was the day the troops would be leaving for war, off to defend their country.

The horses looked almost as proud as the men, standing to attention waiting for their next command.  Their saddles were finely decorated for the occasion, and their saddlebags were visibly full with supplies and rations for their riders.

Stanley wondered where they would be headed, and for how long.  He wondered if there would still be fighting by the time he was their age.  He was only thirteen, stuck somewhere between a boy and a man.  If the war was still raging in a few years time, would he be expected to join?  He wasn't raised to be a fighter.  He may have been the man of the house since his father passed, but he still worked in his maman's fabric shop, and entertained his younger sisters in his spare time.  He wasn't sure he would last much more than a week in the midst of battle.

The men he saw in front of him weren't so much older than he.  Their uniforms made them look brave and mature, but their faces were young.  No facial hair marked them, a few still had acne bumps on their cheeks.  Would war age them?  Would they still look so innocent when they returned?

... How many of them would return?

Villeneuve was a small village.  The absence of one was an absence of many.  If even one of these men died in battle, it would leave an obvious hole in the town.  Chances were they wouldn't all make it home.  Would this be the last time Stanley saw some of them?  Was this public gathering the only goodbye he'd be able to give?

In the center of the front row, sitting on his gargantuan black horse with a confident smirk on his face was Gaston.  He didn't look afraid in the slightest.  He looked ready to fight, ready to win.

Stanley didn't doubt for a moment that Gaston would make it out alive.  A skilled hunter, trained for survival.  His broad shoulders stood tall and proud.  He would be promoted in no time, certainly well on his way to becoming a captain already.

The horse to his right let out a defiant noise, shaking its head in impatient disapproval.

The rider gripped the reins with nervous tension.  “Easy there now, Buddy,” He murmured.

When Stanley saw who had spoken, his heart dropped to his stomach, and his stomach to his knees.  No.  He couldn't.  Not him.

He shouldn't have been surprised, for everywhere Gaston went, Lefou followed.

Still, Stanley couldn't tear his eyes away from Lefou in disbelief.  Lefou was too soft for war.  He was strong and a decent shot, yes, but with a soul too kind and forgiving to kill another human being.  He just didn't have it in him.

He didn't know Lefou well.  The other man was three years his senior and too busy trailing behind Gaston like a duckling to pay Stanley much mind… yet, there was something that he was drawn to.  Whether it was the kind smile Lefou offered when he entered Maman’s store, or the friendly greetings when they passed each other in the market, he didn't know.

He'd always wanted to strike up a friendship with Lefou.  He deserved to be more than simply a lackey, no matter how much he claimed to enjoy it.  There was something… special about him.  Something different.  Something the other men in town didn't possess.  A spark of life that Stanley wanted to see more of.

Would he ever see that spark again?  Would the troops return home, with a different man at Gaston's side?  Would one of the holes in town be Lefou-shaped?

Stanley couldn't bear to think of it.  It was hard enough to imagine that he wouldn't be there buying buttons and bowties at Maman's shop anymore.

The troops were instructed to stand at attention, and any chatter they had been making came to a halt, each man in line sitting straight on the horses, hands firmly on the reins, mouths turned into serious, thin lines.

The band played even louder than before, falling into a deafening, steady rhythm that echoed in Stanley's chest with each drumbeat.

The captain instructed the men forward, and the crowd of townspeople erupted into an uproar of cheers, applause, shouted farewells, and plenty of tears.

Stanley stood back, unable to think properly.  As he watched the men move farther away from town, he was struck by the realization that they were really gone, with no guarantee of return.  All those friends he had made, lives he'd intertwined with his own… were gone.

The crowd dispersed soon afterwards, and Stanley found himself alone in the square.  He couldn't move.  His feet wouldn't allow him to.  He stood frozen in place, until the troops were out of eyeshot, and Lefou's back was but a single dot on the horizon.

“Bon voyage.”

[thatavatarchick]

OMG OMG YOU GUYS

I WAS LOOKING ON INSTAGRAM THIS MORNING AND

I LOVE ALEXIS SO MUCH MY VALENTINES DAY IS ALREADY OFF TO A GREAT START.

I JUST STARTED FOLLOWING HIM AND HE POSTED THAT PICTURE TWO YEARS AGO.

[ewa-jednak-chce-spac]

[tubofskippy]

Prologue is up!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/21919603

I should be posting the other parts over the next few days. ❄️

[ilovestanfou]

Lefou: Screw me if I am wrong but.. Stanley: You're wrong. Lefou: But I didn't say it ye- Stanley: Wrong. You're wrong.

[chubbywinx]

[thoughtfulphilosopherhologram]

Ways to say I love you, prompt 2 : with a hoarse voice under the blankets

OoO

Stanley attendit patiemment que l'eau qu'il avait mis à chauffer commence à bouillir, puis d'un geste habile, il l'ôta du feu et la versa dans un grand bol. Il ajouta une dose de poudre de quinquina et remua soigneusement. Il prit le bol et monta dans la chambre.

- Mon chéri ?

Un grognement lui répondit. Stanley s'approcha, posa le bol sur la table de chevet, s'assit sur le bord du lit et regarda LeFou.

Ses yeux étaient brillants de fièvre. Il avait les joues écarlates, les lèvres roses. Stanley posa la main sur le front moite. Il avait encore de la température, mais il ne présentait pas de signes d'une maladie grave. C'était rassurant.

- Je t'apporte ton quinquina, mon amour.

LeFou grimaça avant de tousser.

- Ah non, pas encore ! Ta poudre a un goût infect !

- Qui a dit que tu avais le choix, mon doux cœur ? Fit Stanley d'un ton d'une douceur trompeuse. La poudre de quinquina est excellente contre la fièvre, et c'est précisément ce qu'il te faut. Et je ne te lâcherai pas tant que tu n'auras pas bu le bol entier, tu le sais. Alors cesse tes gamineries et bois, conclut-il en apportant le bol, tout sourire.

LeFou grogna pour la forme, mais savait qu'à ce jeu-là, il n'aurait jamais le dessus. Il se pinça le nez et avala la potion maudite en quelques gorgées, puis se moucha et toussa encore un peu.

Stanley sourit d'un air satisfait. Il embrassa le bout du nez du malade.

- Bien ! Je vais te laisser dormir maintenant. Ce soir, je vais changer les draps et te faire couler un bain. Tu seras plus à l'aise quand tu seras propre.

- À une condition.

- Ça dépend. Laquelle ?

LeFou sourit.

- Que tu sois dans le bain avec moi.

Stanley allait répliquer que d'une part, quand ils partageaient un bain, c'était rarement pour se laver, et que d'autre part, ce n'était pas raisonnable de le fatiguer alors qu'il était malade, mais il céda vite devant le regard de chiot suppliant que lui faisait son bien-aimé.

- Bon, d'accord, fit Stanley. Mais tu retournes te coucher juste après ! Et tu prendras ton quinquina du soir sans faire d'histoire !

- Promis !

- Allez, essaie de te reposer, mon cœur, murmura Stanley en remontant les couvertures sur LeFou, dont les paupières se fermaient déjà. Je suis en bas, tu m'appelles si tu as besoin de quoi que ce soit.

LeFou hocha la tête en bâillant. Stanley se leva, récupéra le bol et traversa la pièce.

- Stan ?...

L'intéressé se retourna. LeFou le regardait avec tendresse.

- Je t'aime, fit-il d'une voix rauque, sous les couvertures.

Stanley rougit.

- Je t'aime aussi, mon cœur. Tâche de te reposer.

Il quitta la chambre. LeFou s'était déjà rendormi.