Work Text:
As soon as they’d made their way across the city to Grantaire’s flat, and the door had been slammed shut behind them, Enjolras pushed Grantaire against it. Their mouths met in a rough, hasty mess of a kiss, tongues brushing and licking and taking out months of longing in one go. Enjolras caught Grantaire’s bottom lip between his teeth, pulling away until Grantaire gave a ragged gasp, before coming back to plunder his mouth with a vengeance.
Grantaire was hard already; how could he not be, with Enjolras running his hands up and down his torso, reaching around to grab his ass? His own hands were touching as much of Enjolras as possible, anchoring himself to him. One at the back of his neck, the other clinging to his shoulder. He bucked his hips forward, seeking friction or anything that Enjolras would give him, frustrated with the layers of clothing still between them.
They broke apart for the briefest of moments, Grantaire tearing his sweater and shirt off in one go, Enjolras following his lead and removing his own. The heated touch of skin on skin was almost enough to send Grantaire over the edge right there and then, after so long without it. For a fleeting second, he was tempted to stay like this, half-clothed and pressed against the door, and rut against Enjolras until they both found their release. But there was something he’d been thinking about and wanting for months, and now he was presented with a perfect opportunity...
With a bit of uncoordinated manoeuvring, he reversed their positions, fumbling to get Enjolras’s trousers undone. Grantaire pulled back and dropped to his knees, staring up at Enjolras as he tugged his jeans and underwear down his legs. Licking his lips, he dropped his eyes to Enjolras’s cock and took the tip into his mouth.
The sound he drew from Enjolras was more than enough encouragement to make this last as long as possible, and he traded hurried lust for attentive passion. He placed his hands on Enjolras’s bare hipbones, pinning him in place, and set to his task. Grantaire alternated between taking Enjolras’s cock into his mouth, and drawing off entirely, only to lick up and down the shaft. They were both silent, save for the wet noises of Grantaire’s mouth and Enjolras’s heavy breathing, and the occasional hum of pleasure from one or the other.
Enjolras’s hands found their way into Grantaire’s hair again, not to direct him, at least not yet, but simply to rest there. His fingers moved to swirl aimless patterns into his scalp, a gesture that felt so tender and so intimate that Grantaire closed his eyes to just concentrate on the feel of it. He let Enjolras’s cock slip from his mouth to relax his jaw for a second. He dropped kisses on the soft skin at the base, his cheek resting against Enjolras’s pelvis.
“I still can’t believe you’re here, it feels like I’m dreaming,” Grantaire murmured. “Do you have any idea how much I’ve missed you?”
When Enjolras replied, his voice was rough, but remarkably composed for one who had just had his dick in someone’s mouth. “Yes. Fuck, Grantaire, I haven’t been able to do anything but think about you. Work’s been a nightmare, being stood at the front of the class and being confused when you don’t shout out from the back to interrupt me. And then I’d go back to my flat and remember how you looked completely at home there, spread out on the couch, and laid out beneath me in bed, all-“
Whatever Enjolras had been about to say, Grantaire wouldn’t find out. They were done with talking for now. As soon as Grantaire took his cock back into his mouth, Enjolras broke off with a sharp moan, his hands balling into fists and tugging on Grantaire’s hair.
Grantaire gagged a little when he went too fast in his eagerness, but tried again and managed to relax his throat. He took as much of Enjolras’s cock as he could, moving his head backwards and forwards with long, drawn out sucks. Enjolras was beginning to cant his hips, involuntary little jerks that he was trying to restrain.
Apparently, Grantaire taking his hands from them was all the permission Enjolras needed to start fucking his mouth in earnest. He was still grasping Grantaire’s hair, but wrenched one hand away to entwine his fingers with Grantaire’s.
By then, Grantaire was using his free hand to palm himself through his jeans, the act of sucking Enjolras off making him wild for his own release. He glanced up at him, found Enjolras staring back, his mouth open and his eyes wide, and let out a whimper.
Enjolras gave a strangled moan of his own, thrusting once, twice, three times more and spent himself in Grantaire’s throat. It was warm and welcome on Grantaire’s tongue, and he pulled off to swallow, feeling a drop escape his lips and roll down his chin. He chased it with his tongue, and felt Enjolras hauling him up off the ground.
His knees hurt from kneeling on floorboards, but Enjolras’s mouth dropping to his neck while he pulled Grantaire’s trousers off him made that entirely irrelevant. He kept up a filthy stream of obscenities while Enjolras jerked him off, gasping out ‘Enjolras’ over and over when he got close to the edge. It was mostly dry, with a little too much drag, but Enjolras’s grip was tight, and his strokes were fast, and he was nipping at the skin of Grantaire’s throat with his teeth.
Grantaire’s orgasm hit him all at once, making him shake as he came over Enjolras’s hand. If Enjolras hadn’t been holding him so close, Grantaire would surely have fallen to the floor, he was so overwhelmed and trembling so much.
Propped up against Enjolras, Grantaire waited for his head to stop spinning and his breath to even out again. It might have been a minute or it might have been an hour, but Grantaire was so content in Enjolras’s embrace that he led the notion of time fall to the back of his mind.
“Oh,” Enjolras said after a while, his face buried in Grantaire’s hair, muffling his voice. “Congratulations on art school, by the way.”
Laughing, Grantaire kissed Enjolras’s collarbone. “Thank you.”
They retrieved their clothes from where they’d been dropped around their feet, and hitched their jeans back up. Grantaire led Enjolras through the main living space, cluttered with everyone’s junk (because the flat belonged to five 18-20 year olds and Bahorel, after all, so mess was a given) and towards his bedroom at the end of the hall.
“Aren’t you going to show me around?” Enjolras asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Hmm, maybe later,” Grantaire replied, taking Enjolras into his bedroom. “I kinda just want to nap right now.”
Throwing their balled-up clothes into a corner, Grantaire wriggled out of his jeans and flopped onto his unmade bed. He was vaguely embarrassed about having Enjolras in his pigsty of a bedroom, remembering how tidy his own flat had been. Grantaire was a great believer in the power of the floordrobe, and the carpet only showed in inches here and there, between the clothes and art supplies and random sheafs of paper. His walls were a mess of photographs and bits of art, obscuring as much of the boring white paint as possible.
Rather than looking disgusted by all the mess, Enjolras just looked amused, and perhaps a little fond. Grantaire burrowed beneath the bedclothes, pulling the covers up to his nose and watching Enjolras walk around the limited space of his room.
“I like these,” Enjolras said, gesturing to the pictures blue-tacked above the desk. It was a series of watercolours of his friends: Jehan with his nose in a book, hair falling across his eyes, a splash of pink and blue and yellow; Marius, Cosette and Eponine sat on a park bench, laughing together; Courfeyrac and Bahorel playfighting.
“Yours are in the drawer,” Grantaire murmured. He still had the original sketches of Enjolras, tucked away from prying eyes, but close at hand all the same. Over the past year, they’d been added to, with paintings and pastel drawings too. Enjolras hadn’t felt so distant when Grantaire got his likeness down on paper.
“Mine?” Enjolras asked, but took out the sketchbooks anyway, opening the first one and falling quiet. “Grantaire...”
“Come here,” Grantaire said softly, and Enjolras did so, stripping down to his underwear and joining him in bed. “Love you,” Grantaire added in a sleepy mumble, winding himself around Enjolras, head pillowed on his chest.
“Love you too,” Enjolras said, his arm a warm, comforting weight around Grantaire’s shoulders.
Grantaire fell asleep to the sound of Enjolras leafing through pages and pages of paintings, and the sound of his heartbeat.
When Grantaire woke up a few hours later, after the most restful nap of his life, the room was dark around them. As always, he’d moved around in his sleep, his limbs tangled around Enjolras like an overzealous octopus. He emerged from beneath the covers, yawning and stretching, and paused for a second, realising that Enjolras had fallen asleep too.
Disentangling himself from Enjolras, Grantaire sat up to look at him. Just as he’d imagined, Enjolras was beautiful in sleep. It was a kind of ethereal beauty, all fluffed up hair and softened features, rather than his normal Grecian perfection. He glanced at the sketchbook still at Enjolras’s side and smiled.
It had been left open on the final piece of the series Enjolras had admired earlier. Another watercolour, done in soft hues of gold and peach, with a dramatic streak of red and black, the two of them entwined on Enjolras’s crimson bedsheets. Grantaire had painted the most important people in his life, his friends and his lover, exactly as he loved to see them all: his friends happy, and Enjolras with him.
Grantaire would have liked to paint Enjolras as he looked then, peaceful and sleeping, but he’d woken up to a full bladder and an empty stomach and needed to sort out either or both as soon as possible. Hopefully he’d have plenty of opportunities to paint Enjolras from now on.
Everyone else was still out, and the empty flat felt odd. Grantaire wasn’t accustomed to being at home without the rest of them – they were usually all out together or all in together. He went to the bathroom, then fetched his phone from where he’d left it with his stuff in the doorway, finding several unread texts from Courfeyrac.
Hey R, ran into Enjolras earlier
Sent him to the caf, he find you?
Not replying so I guess he did???
Hope it goes ok babes
We’re all going to see a movie
Call me if you need me xxxxxxxxx
Ok Jehan says I can’t leave my phone on in the cinema
See you later x
Grantaire sent a quick reply for Courfeyrac to pick up when he switched his phone back on, and stole a box of Eponine’s cereal from the sparsely-stocked kitchen before padding back to find Enjolras.
He was just waking up when Grantaire re-entered his bedroom, his eyes opening blearily after feeling around for Grantaire and finding him gone.
“Good morning,” Grantaire said fondly, sitting cross-legged on the bed and eating handfuls of dry Crunchy Nut. He stifled a yawn and held the box out to Enjolras. “Hungry?”
Shaking his head sleepily, Enjolras blinked up at Grantaire, holding his arm outstretched.
Tossing the cereal box over the side of the bed, hoping its contents wouldn’t be covering the floor when he returned to it, Grantaire tucked himself under Enjolras’s arm. The two of them shared lazy kisses, breathing through their noses so they didn’t have to break apart for too long. Matters progressed, and Grantaire was soon lying on top of Enjolras, knees either side of his waist.
When they were both hard and gasping, Enjolras rolled them over gently, hooking a thumb beneath the waistband of Grantaire’s boxer-briefs, tugging them off and divesting himself of his own. He took both of their cocks in his hand, bringing them to their peaks together, with quiet gasps and whispered endearments. Grantaire wiped them off with the corner of the blanket.
Another half an hour was spent dozing, pressing kisses to shoulder blades and wrists and collar bones, until they both agreed that food was in order. They cleaned themselves up, (Grantaire crowed with laughter from the doorway when Enjolras futilely attempted to tame his dandelion bedhead) replaced their clothes and headed out; Enjolras treated Grantaire to dinner, seeing as it was their first proper date.
“Finally! It’s only about a year overdue, Enjolras,” Grantaire teased. “What on earth took you so long?”
While eating overpriced French food and playing footsy under the table, they talked things through again, smoothing over the edges of their new relationship. Grantaire felt giddy calling it that. He told Enjolras all about art school, and about living in London, and shared news about his friends... Actually, he did most of the talking, but Enjolras was content to listen. He must have clocked up hours of listening to Enjolras during the school year, anyway.
After dinner, they braved the late evening chill to walk aimlessly for a while. They found a vacant bench overlooking the Thames, and used the cold as an unnecessary excuse to huddle close. It felt ridiculously cliché, like a scene from one of the dumb Nicholas Sparks movies Cosette was crazy about, because real life just wasn’t this perfect, but Grantaire couldn’t find it in himself to care. It was almost as if they were different people, two strangers who’d met and fallen in love and had nothing standing in the way of them being together.
But the more he thought about it, as appealing as that sounded, Grantaire wouldn’t have changed a thing about the way things had played out, except perhaps the length of time apart. He hoped the mistakes they’d both made along the way would just make them stronger, now that they had learned from them.
“How long will you stay?” Grantaire asked.
“A few days, I guess,” Enjolras said. “But I didn’t bring anything with me.”
“Well that was stupid.”
“Thank you. But I wasn’t sure if I’d find you for one thing,” Enjolras said. “London’s a big place.”
“Yeah,” Grantaire agreed. “I’ll take you around tomorrow if you like. Show you my favourite places. Be your personal tour guide.”
“Assuming we actually want to leave your bedroom, of course.”
“Maybe the day after tomorrow, then,” Grantaire said, after a brief moment of consideration. “Or never. But anyway, how come you came today? I mean, I’m glad you’re here, obviously, but there was a very slim chance of accidentally running into me. Hell, you didn’t even run into me, you ran into Courf.”
“Well – even if I didn’t, I still wanted to come,” Enjolras said. “Just to be near to where you were.”
“Bit creepy.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Sure, sure. A bit of Gatsby-style stalking-from-afar,” Grantaire laughed, kissing Enjolras’s cheek and pulling him up. “Come on, let’s go home before Eponine files a missing-person report. And I bet Jehan’s probably written us a congratulatory sonnet by now. So that’s something to look forward to.”
“Hmm, I’ve got to say, I’m rather more excited to be fucking you into the mattress later-“
“Home.”
As soon as they got back to the flat, there were hurried greetings and rushed introductions, before Grantaire was dragging Enjolras back into his bedroom. When they emerged about an hour later, sure enough, there was a poem pinned to the door. A ballad, not a sonnet, but it had been a good guess. There was a pointed, poorly written stanza about being too damn loud hastily added in Courfeyrac’s handwriting at the end.
Grantaire loved his friends.