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The two girls were standing in a small, cramped closet. Well, they were barely standing, since it was Grantaire’s closet, and it was so full of shit, and with them trying to stand on opposite ends of it, with the lights off, they were both more than uncomfortable.
“How much longer do we have?”
“Six minutes and fifteen seconds,” Cosette replied cooly, putting her wrist close to the door to try and get some light on her watch. “Are we just going to bicker the whole time?”
“I’m not touching you, Fauchelevent. No way in hell,” Éponine replied, flattening herself against the wall. “I’d rather kiss your boyfriend.”
“Bet you would.”
“What the fuck did you just say?”
“Ladies!” came Grantaire’s amused voice from the other side of the door. “You’re not supposed to be trying to kill each other, remember!”
“Shut up!” both girls yelled in unison.
This had been Grantaire’s terrible goddamn idea in the first place. He’d finished his beer and made everyone sit down in a circle, recalling how he’d never had a “real high school experience,” because he’d always get drunk by himself, as opposed to getting drunk with other humans. Now, with his best college buds all boozed up, he figured it was the perfect time to live out his strange fantasies from high school.
When Cosette offered to spin, she watched Marius, praying she got him and not one of his friends. She liked his friends, yeah, but she didn’t want to be making out with one of them in a closet for seven minutes.
Éponine had been picking at her nail polish, ignoring Cosette all together, which is what she normally did whenever Cosette was talking. Or in the area. Or breathing. Éponine couldn’t stand the pretty, aloof blond, so she steered clear of her at all costs. She did this mostly because it drove Cosette up the wall, who played the whole “trying to be friendly” card.
Éponine only realized the bottle had landed in her direction, actually, when Enjolras (who’d refused to play), nudged her from the chair next to her.
They’d gotten up silently, eying each other as everyone else in the room laughed, knowing Éponine detested Cosette, and knowing Cosette despised Éponine. Why? No one could put their finger on it. They just hated each other on sight, starting some kind of rage-filled spark. From the start, all they exchanged were glares and silent, pointed looks. They were almost as bad as Enjolras and Grantaire — maybe even worse.
So they went to the closet and shut the door, and, now, were glaring at each other (though they couldn’t tell from the darkness).
“You’re such a priss,” Éponine snapped. “You think everybody wants to be you, or have what you have — like the world is just so in love with you.”
“Well you’re loud and rude and obnoxious,” Cosette replied coldly. “Even if you’re not talking to me, I can’t stand your damn voice, and it’s only going to get worse if you keep smoking those gross cigarettes.”
“Sorry I don’t live to please yo —”
“Five minutes, thirty seconds!” called Grantaire over the blaring music. He sounded much farther away now, his voice still filled with amusement. He was getting a kick out of putting the two of them together in such a small space, knowing how they couldn’t stand each other.
Éponine tried to shift her weight so she wasn’t so bent, but she wound up knocking something over. Taking a step forward to avoid getting hit, she was nearly up against Cosette.
“Personal space,” was all Cosette said, but she still grabbed Éponine’s arms to keep from falling. “Okay there, klutz?”
“Shut up,” Éponine said. “Shut up shut up shut up, Barbie.”
“Barbie?” Cosette sneered, feeling Éponine breath somewhere near her collarbone and trying to ignore it. “Personally,” she said in Éponine’s ear, “I like you better when you’re not talking.”
“You want me to stop talking?”
“Yes.”
And then their lips were pressed against each other’s, Éponine’s tongue deep in Cosette’s mouth, with Cosette’s nails digging into Éponine’s hips. The further Éponine’s tongue went, the deeper Cosette’s nails went into the former’s flesh, making Éponine moan into Cosette’s mouth.
Surprisingly, this made the hairs on the back on Cosette’s neck stand up.
Then Éponine pulled away, and though they couldn’t see each other, they both were aware that their eyes were locked.
“I really, really fucking hate you, Cosette.”
“You taste like cigarette smoke.”
“You like it though,” Éponine teased, leaning in to kiss Cosette on her neck. “Don’t you?”
“I —” Cosette started, but Éponine started kissing down her neck, biting certain areas so hard there would be marks.
Cosette groaned as Éponine made her way down to Cosette’s collarbones. She had to grip Éponine’s back as she kissed the tops of Cosette’s breasts, her hand itching to get under Cosette’s tank top.
They were grinding together, fingers interwoven in each other’s hair, muttering over and over again at each other, “I hate you, I hate you, I hate you,” in between breathes and harsh kisses. Éponine’s fingers found the back of Cosette’s bra and quickly unhooked it, letting her hands wander, encouraged by Cosette’s moans
Cosette’s shirt was nearly off her body when the door opened.
“Times up, ladie — holy shit,” Grantaire said, looking at the two of them. The light from the hallway was pouring into the closet, exposing the girls. Cosette was nearly half naked, with purple lipsticks stains and red teeth marks over nearly half of her neck. Éponine’s was fully dressed, but her shirt had ridden up a bit, exposing her hips, the small amount of blood from Cosette’s nails just starting to dry. Both their lips were red and swollen, the look on their faces wild. Ravenous.
Grantaire didn’t say anything more, though, because Éponine put her hand to the knob of the door, hissing, “Get another goddamned closet, Grantaire.”
Then she slammed it on a shocked Grantaire’s face, and the girls turned seven minutes in heaven to something completely different all together.