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“Are you surprised?”
“No,” Grantaire says truthfully.
Enjolras lifts one perfect eyebrow. Even lounging on the couch with his legs slung over Grantaire's lap, his imperious aura is undented. “Really?”
“Should I be?”
“Well…I feel that, for someone like…me, such a fantasy is a bit—” a hint of uncertainty crosses Enjolras's face, and how Grantaire longs to lean over and kiss it away. “Unexpected,” Enjolras finishes, and Grantaire gets the impression that's not the word he actually means.
“Apollo,” Grantaire starts, rubbing a circle around Enjolras’s knee. “You love to be held down, love to be tied up—you love to give up control to me—” he shoots Enjolras's carefully blank expression a lopsided smile, —because you know I'll take good care of you until you want it back. What is this but another way to give up control?”
Enjolras seems to consider this, blue eyes burning across the short distance separating them. The late afternoon sunlight filtering in through the tall windows behind him cast his curls into a golden halo, and Grantaire's head swims with disbelief that he's actually here, actually allowed to touch this immaculate, secretive deity, actually trusted with the most hidden depths of Enjolras's imagination. He can't fuck this up.
“Is this you implying that you're not averse to the idea?” Enjolras asks at length, voice perfectly steady, belied only in the fingertips worrying at the hem of his shirt.
“I exist solely for your pleasure, my liege.”
The corner of Enjolras's mouth ticks down. “If it would be solely my pleasure, then I have no interest. I would prefer for my partner to be equally as—invested in order to enjoy it. Otherwise, I fear I would be unable to think of anything other than your perception of me.”
“You are overestimating your ability to think while at my mercy,” Grantaire teases. When Enjolras doesn't rise to the bait and indeed continues watching him stonily, now anxiously picking at his thumbnail, he sobers, leaning forward to take Enjolras's hand before he can break the skin again. “Apollo, I assure you,” he says, holding Enjolras's gaze, thrilled he can actually do that without reflexively looking away these days, “I want you in every possible way, and some of the things I've imagined doing to you would get me escorted out of certain BDSM clubs.” A fetching blush brushes pink along the tops of Enjolras's cheeks. “Have I ever entertained this particular fantasy? Not exactly, but similar scenarios, with similar dynamics, certainly. I'm actually—” a dry laugh escapes before he can stop it. “I'm actually relieved you mentioned something like this first. Makes me feel like less of a degenerate freak.”
“If you are a freak, then so am I,” Enjolras states with characteristic confidence. “This is merely a scratch on the surface of all the depraved scenarios I've imagined us in.”
A shiver drips down Grantaire's spine. “Yeah?” he prompts, pulling Enjolras's hand up to his mouth. “I’m honored to occupy such a place in that big, important brain of yours.” He presses a long, slow kiss to Enjolras's palm. “Feel free to share with the class.”
“Maybe someday.” Enjolras's mouth tips into a small, imperfect smile, to Grantaire's immense relief. “We should walk before we run, as they say.”
“If this is walking, then I'm just dying to know what running is.” Twisting his torso, Grantaire shifts forward, bringing their faces close. “Don't worry, Apollo. I can keep up with you.”
Enjolras regards him from inches away like he's looking down at Grantaire from a throne. “I expect nothing less.”
Laughing, Grantaire bridges that insurmountable distance with a hard kiss.
They don't set a specific date; Enjolras asserts it would take away some of the thrill, but they do decide on which days within a timeframe would be appropriate. They want to be able to take their time and not worry about the next day. Then, it falls on Grantaire to actually initiate things. He lets the first few possible dates pass by, waiting until a day that feels right.
Finally, several weeks later, after the fallout of a major protest has finally been settled and Grantaire's latest commission has been sealed and packed for delivery, he decides they both need a little stress relief.
They meet at Grantaire's flat, as they usually do for their date nights. Enjolras's place is nice, but his roommates and the rotating cast of people who don't live there but act like they do can make being alone difficult, and Grantaire absolutely wants solitude for this particular endeavor. He greets Enjolras at the door with a sound kiss that lasts long enough for the oven to start beeping at him and then leads a dazed and ruffled Enjolras into the kitchen.
“You cooked?” Enjolras asks, taking the seat Grantaire indicates. Their “date” nights (because they're not boyfriends) usually include getting takeout and watching a movie or arguing over a book before getting down to business, as it were, but occasionally Grantaire summons the energy to show off some of the stuff his grandmother taught him. If he had his way, he'd feed Enjolras homemade food every day; Enjolras's own wellbeing remains not at the top of Enjolras's priority list. But Grantaire does what he can.
“Anything for our glorious leader,” Grantaire winks, sliding the skillet out of the oven. “Just sit back and let me take care of things.”
“You're in a good mood today.”
“Why wouldn't I be? I've got you all to myself for the first time in weeks.”
“I seem to remember you having me for quite a while just the other day.”
“We were in a supply closet. That doesn't count.” Though it was very satisfying.
Enjolras smirks knowingly.
As he sets the table, Grantaire places a bottle of wine on the table and pops the cork with aplomb.
“Grantaire—”
“No need, my lord.” Grantaire tips the bottle over Enjolras's glass, filling it partially with ruby liquid before moving on to his own. “Only the one for me tonight, I promise. I haven't had a drink since Thursday.”
Somewhat mollified, Enjolras picks up his glass and swirls it idly. Just last year, he wouldn't have believed Grantaire so easily, nor should he have, but it's been a long few months, and no one is more relieved than Grantaire that he's telling the truth.
Dinner is served and eaten and complimented enough to make Grantaire's ears burn. He refills Enjolras's glass once during the meal, earning an indulgent eyebrow quirk. Once the food is gone and only the wine is left, he watches Enjolras drink, the soft pout of his lips around the rim of the glass, the slight scrunch of his nose when the taste lingers too long in his mouth. Enjolras has limited tolerance for the bitterness of alcohol, and even though the wine is a sweet one, practically juice as far as Grantaire's concerned, the longer he drinks it, the less he abides the aftertaste. Fortunately, he doesn't need to drink much for Grantaire's purposes tonight
“Can I tempt you with a third?” Grantaire asks once the glass has been emptied again.
Enjolras places the glass delicately on the table between them. “Do you think I need a third?” he responds, a knowing glint in his eye. Grantaire wasn't necessarily trying to be secretive, but he's still impressed at Enjolras's perceptiveness.
“You don't need a third,” Grantaire responds, chin cupped in his hand. “Though it does…help things along somewhat.”
Enjolras licks his lips, a tiny flash of pink tongue against his wine-stained bottom lip. “Then perhaps one more couldn't hurt.”
Grantaire obliges.
By the time his glass is empty a third time over, Enjolras is well and truly flushed, posture relaxed as he leans his cheek on his hand and blinks slowly at Grantaire over the table. An indolent, satiated predator cat regarding Grantaire with dilated blue eyes.
“Surely you're not drunk, Apollo,” Grantaire says, leaning back in his chair. “On just three glasses of wine? Come on.”
“I don't usually….” Enjolras trails off, eyelids drooping. “I'm not sure why it's affecting me so much…my tolerance is higher than this….”
“Must be the stress.” Grantaire taps a finger against his lips. “Maybe you should lie down.”
“No, no, I'm fine.” Enjolras shakes his head dazedly. “I should…I should go….” He pushes himself to his feet and immediately sways, barely catching himself against the table.
“Hey, whoa,” Grantaire is at his side in a heartbeat, taking his arm. “You definitely can't leave like this—come on.”
He tugs and Enjolras is too unbalanced to resist, stumbling along as Grantaire guides him toward the couch. “I…I'm—why am I so dizzy,” he mumbles, nearly tripping on his own feet.
“I think you did drink a bit too much, Apollo.” They reach the couch and Grantaire pushes Enjolras down until he falls onto the cushions. “Just stay here and rest. I'll take care of you.”
Enjolras’s head tips back, gazing blearily up at the ceiling. “—feel strange,” he slurs.
“I bet you do.” Dropping to his knees, Grantaire reaches for the buttons tracing up the center of Enjolras’s shirt. “You’ll feel more comfortable with less clothing on.”
“What—?”
“Hush, Apollo.” The heavy, agitated pounding of Grantaire’s heart is making his fingers shake, and he has to try each button several times before freeing it. Every opened button is another swath of revealed porcelain skin, and by the time Grantaire reaches the top of Enjolras’s pants, his mouth is dry and he can feel himself filling out against his fly. “Just relax,” he coos, tugging the bottom of Enjolras’s shirt loose in order to completely part both sides, baring Enjolras’s entire torso to his ravenous stare. “Let me handle everything.”
“—Grantaire—” Enjolras’s perpetually silver tongue is clumsy around the name, none of the elegant lilt Grantaire has come to expect, but he still perks up like a dog to find Enjolras gazing down at him from beneath hooded eyelids, the black wells of his pupils nearly eclipsing the ocean blue of his irises. “Why…what are…you….”
Smiling, Grantaire places his hands on Enjolras’s thighs and leans up to brush their noses together. “Relax,” he repeats, pressing his thumbs into dense muscle. “I’ve got everything under control.” Enjolras’s mouth is slack and unresponsive when he angles in for a kiss, but that’s thrilling in its own way. He licks forcefully past Enjolras’s teeth, sealing their lips together and exploring that wet, hot cavern to his heart’s content.
Enjolras tastes of wine, fruity and decadent, with undertones of the same electric buzz Grantaire always tastes when they kiss, and he doesn’t react all through Grantaire’s enthusiastic probing, allowing Grantaire to take for as long as he wants. And Grantaire definitely wants, for a very long time, until his own lips are tingling and he’s dizzy from limited oxygen. He finally pulls back, leaving Enjolras’s lips slack and shining with saliva. His eyes, still half-lidded, don’t track Grantaire as he leans back.
Heart pounding, Grantairs snaps his fingers in front of Enjolras’s face, earning little more than a lethargic start and a flutter of eyelashes.
By now, Grantaire’s dick is straining inside his underwear, coaxed to full hardness by the kiss, and Enjolras’s lack of response makes it throb distractingly. Adjusting his grip, one hand on Enjolras’s waist, the other cupping the back of his neck, Grantaire eases Enjolras’s unresistant body sideways on the couch until he’s situated properly on his back, head lolling to the side and one arm dangling over the edge.
“There we go,” Grantaire whispers right into Enjolras’s ear. “Isn’t that better? No need to think, Apollo. You’re perfect just like this.” He drops a chaste peck on Enjolras’s temple and sits back, getting to work on Enjolras’s clothes.
Shoes and socks come off, placed neatly out of the way, and Grantaire makes quick work of Enjolras’s dark jeans, peeling them down his long legs and tossing them onto the coffee table. Enjolras’s legs are, as always, a revelation. Endless ivory skin, toned muscles, dainty ankles, all pliant and malleable in Grantaire’s hands. He lifts them onto the cushions before grabbing the waistband of Enjolras’s tight red boxer briefs and maneuvering them off his hips and then down the expanses of his legs. Once free, they too land somewhere on the coffee table, and Grantaire scrambles gracelessly to open Enjolras’s legs and insert himself between them, kneeling on the couch above his limp partner.
Enjolras is staring listlessly to the side, seemingly unaware of his nudity, eyes glassy and chest rising shallowly with each breath. Golden curls halo his head, a holy corona set against the drab gray linen of the couch cushion, and Grantaire can’t resist the urge to touch, fingertips skimming through silky locks that gleam against his tanned, calloused skin. Gliding his fingers around the shell of Enjolras’s ear, he trails them lower, down the porcelain column of Enjolras’s throat, dipping into the small hollow between his collarbones, then drawing a line down his sternum. He diverts his path to trace one of the silvery scars underlining Enjolras’s pectorals, gentle around the tender skin, before moving on, over the firm plate of his abdominals and into the seductive vee of his pelvis. Enjolras doesn’t react to the ticklish attention to his torso, but when Grantaire slips his fingers down between his thighs and cups his hand over Enjolras’s pussy, a soft, surprised sound issues from Enjolras’s mouth.
“That’s it,” Grantaire praises breathlessly, crooking one finger into the wet heat already waiting for him. “I’m gonna make you feel so good, Apollo.” The slick glide is incredible, and Grantaire quickly shifts his hand to better sink his middle finger all the way inside, working it gently back and forth, fingertip grazing the ribbed flesh above it. His thumb presses unerringly into Enjolras’s folds, rubbing bluntly at his clit. Enjolras gives a weak gasp and the muscles in his stomach jump, rippling down to tighten around Grantaire’s invading finger. Grantaire lets out a shaky laugh and repeats the motion, flicking at the hardening nub and enjoying the involuntary clench around his finger as his own cock throbs.
“You’re so wet,” he remarks under his breath, working his fingers faster. “I know how you feel without foreplay, and this is—” he shoves in a second finger, using his other hand to stroke Enjolras’s clit so he can move more freely. “You must have been thinking about this all night, sunshine—you’re practically dripping for me.”
Enjolras’s breath catches and he rolls his head to the other side, rocking slightly with Grantaire’s increasingly aggressive ministrations.
Unable to resist any longer, Grantaire moves back and bends down, pushing his fingers in as far as they’ll go as he closes his mouth around the swollen bud poking through Enjolras’s tidy pubic hair. As soon as the familiar, musky taste hits his tongue, he feels Enjolras jerk, his hips twisting sluggishly, as though to get away, but Grantaire wraps one arm around his thigh, keeping him still for a long, thorough lick. His fingers rub small circles against Enjolras’s g-spot, which earns him another feeble squirm.
He’s not sure if he can actually make Enjolras climax like this, but that doesn’t mean he’s not going to do everything he knows Enjolras likes. Sealing his lips around Enjolras’s mound, he flicks his tongue lightly against his clit, until Enjolras’s legs are pressing weakly against the sides of his head, trying to squeeze together. The passage around his fingers just gets slicker and slicker, each pump making an obscene squelching sound that would ordinarily have Enjolras’s cheeks burning, until Grantaire just can’t take it anymore.
Humming, he gives Enjolras’s clit a final suck, before moving back, licking his lips and pulling his fingers free. They both glisten in the light, coated in a thick layer of fluid, and Grantaire clumsily undoes his pants and pulls his straining cock free before wrapping his dirty hand around the shaft. He hisses at the stimulation, already uncomfortably close to the edge, and carefully wipes the slick along his length. A packet of lubricant from his back pocket helps things along, and soon he’s sliding his fist smoothly from root to tip.
Steadying himself with one hand, he braces over Enjolras’s prone form, drinking in his flushed chest and parted lips and the insensate glaze over his eyes as he nudges his tip into Enjolras’s folds. The opening of Enjolras’s pussy flutters against his head, and Grantaire bites the inside of his cheek, guiding his cock past the initial lax resistance. Then he’s inside, sliding into the hot, wet clutch of Enjolras’s body, and a shiver courses from the nape of his neck all the way down to his toes.
“Fuck,” he whispers vehemently, hips tilting forward, and it’s a maddening journey, feeding his cock into that tight hole until it’s completely sheathed, Grantaire’s pelvis flush to Enjolras’s ass. Once he gets there, he takes a moment to breathe, centering himself.
Enjolras barely reacts to the intrusion. The hand lying beside him on the sofa curls into a loose fist, and his chest rises erratically as his breathing stutters, but other than that, he’s still and pliant, probably not even fully aware of what’s going on.
A rush tingles through Grantaire and he grinds forward, just to watch Enjolras rock bonelessly away from the motion. Arching over his partner, Grantaire takes Enjolras by the chin and turns his head up, meeting blank, blown out cerulean eyes. Enjolras blinks slowly, his gaze not focusing, and when Grantaire props his mouth open and sticks a finger inside, he doesn’t respond beyond a fluttering of lashes.
Putting his dick on hold for a second, Grantaire strokes along the silky bed of Enjolras’s tongue, fucking his finger in and out until it’s coated in saliva and drool begins dripping from the corner of Enjolras’s mouth. Pulling it free, he smears it along Enjolras’s swollen bottom lip and takes a second to appreciate the way it gleams in the light. Then he cups beneath Enjolras’s jaw to keep his mouth open and leans down to kiss him again, driving his hips forward at the same time.
Matching the rhythm of the kiss to the pace of his cock grinding in Enjolras’s cunt, Grantaire consumes him with single-minded determination. Filling him both above and below, Grantaire grabs a fistful of brilliant curls, tilting Enjolras’s head in order to go deeper, to fit their mouths together even more fully. The scorching pressure around his cock sprays sparks up his spine with every shift, screwing directly into his gut, and sweat prickles tellingly at his hairline with every wave of pleasure.
Even though this is all consensual, requested by Enjolras himself, Grantaire lets himself drift into less consensual territory, his mind wandering to the fantasy Enjolras so trustingly divulged to him.
Meeting somewhere else, a bar or a party, a drink offered and accepted, the room spinning, too hot, too loud, an inescapable grip guiding him out, to a car, into a strange house as time passes through molasses, more heat and sound and sensation—and then waking up, disoriented, naked, sore, covered in evidence.
Grantaire wasn’t lying when he said he’d had similar but not identical fantasies. Getting Enjolras so drunk he can't walk before dragging him into the alley and fucking him until he passes out. Letting his possessiveness get the better of him and imprisoning Enjolras in his flat, keeping him drugged and compliant and ready to take his cock at any time. More fantastical scenarios: a corrupt cop taking advantage of a concussed and woozy protestor after arrest; a kidnapper hiding in the apartment of an influential person’s son, catching him by surprise and pressing a chloroform rag over his mouth and nose until he slumps unconscious in his arms—even more perverse and disgusting fantasies that Grantaire doesn’t even want to admit to himself yet. There is no limit to his debauchery when it comes to Enjolras, but he’s known that for years.
Breaking the kiss, Grantaire buries his nose in the crook of Enjolras’s neck and slows his pace, stroking in and out and enjoying the way Enjolras just takes it, every motion resounding through his limp body. “You are so fucking perfect,” Grantaire murmurs, lips brushing Enjolras’s flushed throat. “I want you every way I can have you, every way you’ll let me—I’ll never get enough of you—” Unable to resist, he sinks his teeth into the tender skin behind the hinge of Enjolras’s jaw, sucking forcefully, to remind both Enjolras and himself.
Once he’s sure the mark will be dark and unmistakable, Grantaire pops off, pushing himself up on his hands. Enjolras looks a little more disheveled now, his hair messy from being shoved up and down the cushion, a pink blush creeping up from his throat and staining his cheeks, his mouth parted around his elevated breathing, and every time Grantaire hits home, his eyelids flutter. Circling his hips to make sure he drags across Enjolras’s sweet spot, Grantaire slams all the way inside and is rewarded with a small, helpless moan. Enjolras rolls his head to the other side, blinking unseeingly, until another pointed thrust makes his eyes widen and roll back before flickering closed.
Biting down on his bottom lip, Grantaire rides through the wave of unbearable heat coursing through him, not wanting this to end yet. Watching Enjolras barely react to the rough fucking sends his mind back into those dark, greedy corners, and he watches covetously, imagination spinning unchecked—
–tanned fingers tangled in golden curls and wrapped around one pale wrist as he pins Enjolras to the brick wall of the alley and slams into him again and again. Enjolras moans weakly, his cunt pulsing around Grantaire’s cock, and when Grantaire yanks his head back, his eyes are cloudy and unfocused, one cheek scuffed from rough contact with the brick.
“You should know better than to drink so much, Apollo,” Grantaire purrs, releasing Enjolras’s wrist to reach down between his legs. Enjolras doesn’t even try to struggle, can’t—too intoxicated to do much of anything but let Grantaire manhandle him. Even the expert finger rubbing over his clit barely garners a response, little more than a reflexive jolt, nerves reacting autonomously. Still, he’s not so far gone that he can’t feel it, and when Grantaire’s cock and fingers strike the right balance, he tips over the edge with a feeble shudder, clenching around Grantaire before his eyes roll back and he sags, supported only by Grantaire’s embrace.
Of course, it’s hardly fair if only Enjolras gets to finish, so Grantaire hikes his unconscious body up against the wall and continues until he comes, buried deep inside with Enjolras’s head resting on his shoulder.
Or—
“—nothing clever to say now, huh?” The metal table rattles against the floor as Grantaire pounds into Enjolras, one hand keeping Enjolras’s torso flat against the tabletop, the other clutching cruelly at his hip, though he probably doesn’t need to. It’s not like Enjolras is going anywhere. “Guess that brick really did a number on you.”
Glazed blue eyes attempt a glare back at him, but a brutal thrust scatters that small bit of concentration and they go half-lidded again as Enjolras gasps. “—won’t…get away with this—” he slurs.
“Yeah?” Sheathing himself completely, Grantaire grinds as he leans over to speak closer to Enjolras’s ear, enjoying the way Enjolras’s light brows pinch together in involuntary pleasure. “Cameras are off and no one’s watching—you think anyone will believe you, a repeat offender, over an officer?” Chuckling, he brings a hand up to brush gently through the blood-matted curls at Enjolras’s temple. “Just relax,” he croons. “There’s nothing you can do, so just let me take care of you.”
Enjolras makes a frustrated, furious noise, cuffed hands clenching into fists at the small of his back, but Grantaire is right; he can’t do anything but lie there and take Grantaire’s cock, jolting helplessly along with the table until Grantaire finally finishes and pulls out, admiring the shining trails of cum dripping from Enjolras’s twitching cunt and down the insides of his thighs.
Or—
—gasping for breath, Grantaire sinks to the floor beneath Enjolras’s deadweight and finally dares to remove the rag. Enjolras’s head lolls gently against his shoulder, curls in disarray from the struggle, eyes closed and expression peaceful. He fought hard, but he had lost from the moment Grantaire pressed the rag over his face, and eventually he succumbed. Now all of that fire and energy lies dormant, five feet and ten inches of strong limbs sprawled unaware on the ground between Grantaire’s legs, and Grantaire may be a thug for hire, but he’s only human.
Running his hands up and down Enjolras’s torso, he maps the contours of his body, rucking his shirt up to feel his soft skin and pinch his cute nipples. The utter lack of response emboldens him, and soon he’s got Enjolras face down with his hips propped up for the three fingers pumping in and out of his pussy. He’s wet and warm, muscles lax and inviting, and Grantaire eagerly takes the opportunity, pulling his aching cock out and plunging it inside.
His job was just to kidnap the little trust fund baby, after all, no one ever said anything about what he could or couldn’t do with him until the ransom was paid. Surely his employers won’t mind if he has a little fun for the next few days. Sending Enjolras home full of cum sounds like a win for everyone involved.
Grantaire shudders, his pace hitching. For as violent and abhorrent and nasty as his fantasies can get, the one throughline, the thing that stays the same between all of them, is the ending. After fucking Enjolras senseless, conscious or unconscious, the fantasy dissolves, and clear blue eyes blink open to fix on him while a warm, satisfied, trusting smile plays on pink, kiss-swollen lips.
A cracked moan loosens from Grantaire’s chest and the pressure inside of him spikes violently. Burying himself all the way inside, he keeps his eyes on Enjolras’s regal profile as his orgasm takes control, spilling over in a deluge of heat and pleasure. Enjolras’s brows twitch, his mouth falling open, and then Grantaire’s eyes involuntarily slam closed, all of his muscles tensing with his release.
He rocks his hips through it, milking himself thoroughly into Enjolras’s cunt, and when the peak finally ebbs, he lets out the air trapped in his lungs in one slow, steady stream. Blinking his eyes open again, he takes a deep, cooling breath, sending the embers of his climax scattering back down into his core, where they glow softly, ready to reignite at any moment.
Enjolras is still insensate beneath him, face flushed and eyes half-lidded again, utterly unaware of the cock in his pussy or the cum filling him up.
Biting his lip, Grantaire sits up and takes Enjolras by the hips, easing himself out. His dick slides back into view, the shaft shiny with lube and spend, and when the head pops free, it swings down, heavy and still half-hard. Enjolras’s hole contracts around nothing, winking open and closed a few times as the muscles spasm. Grantaire watches hungrily, pushing one of Enjolras’s knees up for a better look at the milky fluid leaking from Enjolras’s swollen cunt. Dragging his fingers up through the mess, he collects as much as he can and stuffs it back inside, thrusting in and out a few times for good measure.
Enjolras makes a muffled sound and the leg Grantaire is holding kicks feebly.
“So perfect,” Grantaire murmurs, tracing his fingertips up Enjolras’s folds and grazing his clit, earning a weak squirm. “And all mine.”
Enjolras can neither confirm nor deny him, but that’s okay. They both know the truth.
Moving Enjolras’s legs out of the way, Grantaire rises and stretches his arms over his head, letting out a pleased sigh. Nothing like a good orgasm to work the kinks out. After rolling his neck, he turns back to his partner, splayed obscenely on the sofa, and reaches for his phone.
A couple pictures later, he sticks his phone back in his pocket and kneels, scooping one arm beneath Enjolras’s knees and one beneath his shoulders. He’s as easy to lift as the last time Grantaire did it, and Grantaire frowns slightly, adjusting Enjolras in his grip. He really thought he’d been helping Enjolras put on some weight lately, but apparently his insistence on regular meals isn’t enough. He’ll have to work harder.
“Come on, Apollo,” he says, tilting Enjolras’s head onto his shoulder and setting off for the bedroom. “We’ve got the whole night ahead of us.”
“You certainly took a lot,” Enjolras observes, swiping to yet another picture of himself.
Even though he’s not looking at him, Enjolras can tell Grantaire is smirking, lounging back against the pillows with his arms folded behind his head and the midmorning sunlight glowing in his eyes. “I wanted to make sure you could see how sexy you are,” he says, voice still rough from sleep. “And it’s exciting, right? Seeing what I did to you.”
Enjolras can’t deny that. Just looking at the photos is making him warm, a familiar heat tingling between his legs. “I take it that you had fun, then.”
“More than you can imagine.” Light fingertips graze the small of Enjolras’s back and he twitches slightly, fighting not to shiver as Grantaire tickles up his bare spine. “You were so perfect, Apollo,” Grantaire rumbles, sitting up in order to press himself to Enjolras’s side. They’re both shirtless, so the direct infusion of nude, searing skin makes Enjolras catch his breath. “You took me so well—I think your body remembered me.”
“Don’t be silly,” Enjolras scolds through his increasing heart rate.
Humming, Grantaire slides his hand all the way up Enjolras’s back and bows his head to press a kiss to Enjolras’s shoulder. His morning stubble scuffs along the blushing skin, pooling more warmth beneath Enjolras’s stomach. “It really seemed like that at times,” he says, toying with the ends of Enjolras’s hair. “With the way you reacted to me.”
Enjolras, of course, doesn’t recall anything of last night after his third glass of wine. And in some ways, the utter lack of memory only makes it hotter. He stares down at the undeniable evidence of what was done to him and swallows hard. He feels dirty, he feels used, he feels—
Grantaire reaches over and scrolls the screen to the left. “This one is my favorite,” he whispers, words breezing over Enjolras’s ear.
Compared to the others, the photo is positively chaste, a simple shot of Enjolras lying on his side in bed. He’s obviously naked, but the framing is tight on his upper body, not showing anything indecent, and his eyes are closed, head resting on a pillow with his curls spilling over the sham. The only notable thing about the photo at all is that his hand is being held by the person obviously behind the camera, long calloused fingers cradling his own with a palpable tenderness. Just looking at it makes Enjolras’s hand burn.
“Why?” he finds himself asking.
Withdrawing his hand, Grantaire snags Enjolras’s on the way and brings it to his face, drawing Enjolras’s eyes along with it. Dry lips brush over his knuckles as Grantaire’s gaze gleams with something vast and terrifying. “Because nothing makes me happier than getting to hold your hand, Apollo.”
Enjolras’s heart skips in his chest. “Do you prefer it now, or when I’m—” he gestures with the phone, “—like this?”
Grantaire’s mouth curves into a small smile. “Any way I can have you. Though I have to admit—” he flips Enjolras’s hand over and leans his cheek against his palm. “Nothing beats having your eyes on me.”
A strange sensation that he only feels around Grantaire flutters in Enjolras’s stomach. “So would you do it again?”
“In a heartbeat,” Grantaire answers instantly. “And any of the other dozens of debaucherous things you hinted at—say the word, and I’m there.”
“Don’t agree before you even hear them.”
“I promise they’re not any worse than what I want to do to you, my lord.”
“Good.” Enjolras smiles, at once comforted and charmed by Grantaire’s unwavering devotion. “We can sink into depravity together, I suppose.”
“There’s no one I’d rather be there with.” Grantaire’s smile sharpens and he uses his grip on Enjolras’s hand to tug him backward. Enjolras hits the mattress, blinking bemusedly as Grantaire shoves the blankets aside and climbs between his legs. “But right now,” he says, squirming down onto his front and putting himself level with Enjolras’s cunt, practically breathing against the damp spot in his underwear. “I owe you a few orgasms.”
“How many to make us even?” Enjolras asks breathlessly, propping himself up on his elbows and discarding Grantaire’s phone somewhere in the tangle of sheets..
“Three.” Grantaire winks. “But I’ll throw in a fourth for free.”
There’s definitely more to say, more they need to talk about, but it can wait for a few hours, when Enjolras can finally string together a coherent sentence again.
…maybe it’ll have to wait until tomorrow.