admittedly , the younger robespierre is right. his linen shirt’s frayed , clumsily stitched together - napoleone cannot afford a new one. he wraps the blankets tightly around his shoulders , shivers involuntary. “ allez bonbon - j’ai froid ! ”
the frustration is clear on his face , he draws the blankets even closer - viciously glaring at augustin. such things his serious mind does not appreciate , attention must be devoted to the campaign : free nice & toulon from the royalists - not fooling around with his fellow commander.
yet napoleone cannot help stealing a glance at augustin’s chest - seconds later he catches himself staring in silence. sacrebleu , his own brain isn’t cooperating either. surrender it is then , to the charms of robespierre le jeune. “ mmm … you do. do i get a kiss ? ” // @almostincorruptible ; cont.
