Hi love stories about Gafou. Would you ever write one about Lefou with a female gaston. Or Lefou saves Gaston in time from falling off the castles bridge.
Have truly missed these two.
This ficletâs also on AO3!
He stared his companion down with what he thought was a fierce gaze, but paled at the look LeFou sent him in return. He did not loosen his fingers on Gastonâs sleeve, clutching at him like one of his steel hunting traps, laying wait in the forest for an unsuspecting beast.
âListen to me, Gaston.â LeFouâs voice, once so cheery and buoyant, effortlessly spreading sunlight and warmth to his cold limbs on crisp autumn days, was now icy. âIf you go up there, you will die. He will kill you. I am sure of it.â
âYou know nothingâ - he tried again to wrench his arm away, but his grip did not falter - âyou know nothing of what fate has in store for me. You do not know of the glory that will come when I sever that monsterâs head from its body. You donât know - youâve never known - as if you care; as if youâve ever cared.â
âYou have no idea how wrong you are,â LeFou hissed.
He regretted it instantly, watched LeFouâs visage darken, watched him open his mouth to finally cast Gaston out of his life once and for all. He waited for the blow, but it did not come - for they were both suddenly reminded that they were in the middle of some strange sort of battle, as a chandelier came swinging at their heads - and they both crouched down, thanks in part to LeFouâs continuous hold on Gastonâs arm - looking up only to find a vaguely harpsichord-shaped object soaring through the air towards LeFou - and Gaston reacted instinctively, smacking it aside with brute force, a snarl curling at his lips - and - and it was like they were - on the hillside again, mere children, their faces caked with mud and their eyes sharp with panic and the⌠the hunger, the dull ache⌠and his fear, his absolute terror, for LeFouâs safetyâŚ
He came to, gasping for LeFou as a drowned man flails for air, and his knees buckled somewhat, and he sat shakily upon the steps leading up to the west wing, choking on the tears seeping down his cheeks, as LeFou held him close, his face pressed to the fabric of the broad brown overcoat, his weeping eyes soaking the cloth, soiling it, but LeFou did not seem to mind.
âForgive me,â he sobbed, later, into LeFouâs chest: when the fighting had ceased; when townsfolk and servants alike came to the common ground of realizing what a terrible idea this had all been after all; when Gaston expected them to turn âround and tear him into tiny little pieces, but instead watched, helpless, awestruck, as LeFou stood tall and kept all of them at bay.
âForgive me,â he repeated once more, as the courtyard heâd been led to began to empty, and the fog around the castle lifted, and the wreckage became clear. âPlease forgive me.â
LeFou looked at him, his head bandaged, his loose curls matted and sticking to his temples, and then -
âAlways,â came the impossibly gentle reply, and it was all Gaston could do to keep from collapsing again.
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