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The elevator had broken down.
It was just Grantaire’s luck really, that the one time he decides to be lazy and take the elevator instead of the stairs is the one time it chooses to grind to a shuddering halt halfway between two floors. And to think, he was actually making an effort to arrive on time for work. Enjolras would’ve been so proud. Still, he stood by the fact that it was distinctly not his fault. He supposed it could be worse. He could be stuck with someone like Courfeyrac, who would gradually get more and more restless from being stuck in a small space with nothing to do, gradually becoming more and more insufferable (even more so than usual), or poor claustrophobic Marius. Not that ‘poor claustrophobic Marius’ would be in a lift in the first place. Instead he was stuck here in a lift with Combeferre. Combeferre who was giving him that look over the top of his glasses.
Just his luck indeed.
He returned that look to Combeferre with earnest, dropping his satchel to the floor with a heavy thunk, pens spilling out messily, and crossed the small distance between them in less then a second. Combeferre pushed Grantaire against the wall, pinning one of his hands against the wall, the other settling against his throat as he tipped his head back to kiss him deeply. He had learned the hard way not to squeeze too hard around Grantaire’s neck, which was apparently due to an incident in a past relationship that Combeferre wouldn’t ask about. He had worked hard to gain Grantaire’s trust, and the last thing he wanted was to be too invasive.
Grantaire clearly couldn’t decide what to do with his other hand, because it hovered uncertainly for a minute before resting on Combeferre’s hip, fingers gently probing under his shirt. Combeferre’s hand traces its way gently up from Gantaire’s neck to slip under the edge of his hat - that obnoxiously red woolen thing Jehan had made when he got bored and went through his knitting phase - and pushed it off to run his hand through the soft curls. Grantaire took advantage of the hand leaving his neck to hide his face in Combeferre’s shoulder, pressing soft fluttering kisses to his neck. He could feel his heartbeat under the skin, the way it fluttered against his ministrations, racing just as fast as his own. Combeferre hummed and tugged sharply on Grantaire’s hair, scratching his nails lightly over his scalp to the back of his neck and grinning as Grantaire shivered.
Combeferre released his hold on Grantaire’s hand so he could tug his shirt over his head impatiently. Grantaire squirmed a little as he was pushed back against the wall of the elevator for a second time, the metal impossibly cold against his bare skin. Combeferre’s hand settled back at his neck to hold him still as he kissed his way slowly down Grantaire’s chest, dragging his tongue over his nipples teasingly to hear the little gasps Grantaire made that he loved so much. His hand left his neck, following the path his mouth had made and scratching marks down his chest. Combeferre gazed up at Grantaire as he settled to his knees in front of him; he had his eyes closed and head thrown back, one hand gently wrapped around the wrist of Combeferre’s hand as it dragged over his ribs. He loved how soft Grantaire’s skin was, and he especially loved marking it.
He batted Grantaire’s hand away smoothly, unbuttoning his jeans with a little difficulty. He was wearing those stupid skin tight ones Courfeyrac had made him buy, and while they looked absolutely delectable they were a nightmare to get off. Grantaire tried to help but Combeferre shoved his hands away less gently than before, wrestling the stiff zipper down and finally yanking the jeans down to Grantaire’s knees. He nudged his legs apart so he had more room, and leaned in to sink his teeth into the soft skin of Grantaire’s thigh. Grantaire moaned loudly, the word ‘please’ falling from his lips breathlessly. Combeferre licked over the teethmarks, as if trying to soothe, then sucked a bruise a little higher up his thigh as Grantaire’s hands began to tug on his hair impatiently. Combeferre hovered in front of him, hands barely touching Grantaire as he whispers ‘please please please’ like a mantra, but it is only after he gasped out exactly what he wanted that Combeferre leaned in to swipe his tongue over the tip.
Grantaire’s hips jerked and he whined. Combeferre clucked his tongue disapprovingly and slid his hands smoothly up Grantaire’s thighs to his hips, digging his fingers in possessively and pushing his hips back against the wall. Grantaire didn’t need to be told to keep still. Combeferre hesitated, as if making sure he was going to behave, then licked his way from the tip of Grantaire’s cock to the base and back up, pressing a chaste kiss to the tip before wrapping his lips around him and beginning to suck. The only sounds in the tiny elevator were Grantaire’s gasping breaths and quiet moans and the obscene sounds Combeferre made sure he was making as he hummed around Grantaire. He didn’t give him much, just a little, and when he pulled away Grantaire whined his protest.
Combeferre rose smoothly, backing Grantaire up close against the wall and pressing their bodies close together, letting Grantaire’s hands roam under his shirt as he leaned in close, his breath tickling Grantaire’s ear.
“Stay.” He whispered in a voice Grantaire would never argue with. He pressed both hands against his chest to reiterate his point, then turned to his satchel on the floor, frowning at the spilled contents as he dug around in the bottom of the bag until he pulled out a small bottle of lube. Ordinarily Grantaire would be scandalised at the though that Combeferre carried lube in his bag, if he wasn’t so sure that he was the whole reason Combeferre carried it in the first place.
Combeferre kissed him again as he covered his fingers in lube, nipping at his bottom lip and savouring the noises Grantaire made into his mouth as he slipped the first finger in. Grantaire had wrapped his arms around Combeferre’s shoulders, nails digging into Combeferre’s skin through his smart button up shirt. Grantaire began to undo the buttons as Comebefere slowly, teasingly, added the second finger, pulling his shirt open and pressing their bare chests together. Combeferre was warmer than him, given that he’d been dressed longer, and Grantaire revels in the heat, getting as close as is physically possible. He did his best to keep his hips still as Combeferre thrust his fingers into him, but when he curled them, Grantaire’s whole body jerked. He knew Combeferre would have a triumphant smile on his face as Grantaire moaned loudly - he had admitted in the past that he loves discovering what noises he can coax from Grantaire - but then the fingers are gone.
Combeferre took a condom out of the back pocket of his jeans, putting it on as casually as he might fetch the mail in the morning, before picking Grantaire up as if he weighed nothing. Grantaire wrapped his legs around him to keep himself up as he pressed soft, pleading kisses to Combeferre’s jawline, no longer giving any thought to the cold metal against his back. Combeferre hesitated, giving Grantaire a chance to back out (because he can be quite capricious, and once or twice has convinced himself that Combeferre doesn’t want him and has backed out at the last minute with Combeferre whispering comforts into his ear as he mumbled his disagreement) but Grantaire whined desperately into Combeferre’s ear and he pressed his hips forward almost instinctively.
Noises that Combeferre just adored spilled forth from Grantaire’s lips as he moved his hips, slowly at first, waiting for Grantaire to ask for what he wanted. It didn’t take long, Grantaire naturally being the more impatient type, and Grantaire began to whisper frantic, breathless pleas into Combeferre’s ear, wanting it harder and faster and god could he stop teasing why was he such a tease. Combeferre let him beg for a moment, then slammed his hips forward as hard as he could. He heard Grantaire’s breath hitch right in his ear, as if he’d stopped breathing for a moment, but then Combeferre moved his hips again and he released the ragged moan he’d been holding back.
Grantaire’s hold on Combeferre’s shoulders got tighter and tighter with every thrust, his nails digging in so hard Combeferre was certain he’d be bleeding. With the wall supporting some of Grantaire’s weight he slipped one hand between them, stroking Grantaire in time with each precise thrust of his hips until he came with a strangled moan, hands dragging down from Combeferre’s shoulder to score lines down his back. If he was bleeding it would seep into his shirt and he’d have to wear his jacket all day to hide it. Grantaire kissed him desperately as Combeferre followed him over the edge, groaning into the Grantaire’s mouth and pressing as close to him as he could. They stayed like that for a moment, Grantaire’s head on Combeferre’s shoulder, content to listen to each others breathing return to a somewhat normal rate. Combeferre let Grantaire down reluctantly, and he sat down on the floor with a grin on his face.
Combeferre retrieved a pack of tissues from the satchel (that seemed to hold everything, Grantaire mused) and cleaned them up, his usual soft smile back in place. It still, after several months of having sudden sex with Combeferre in random (sometimes public) places, surprised Grantaire at how quickly Combeferre could slip back to being the gentle, caring man everyone knew him as when only a few minutes before he’d had his hands around Grantaire’s neck as he called him a slut. He smirked at the thought, and Combeferre gave him a knowing look as he smoothed Grantaire’s hair down and bundled him back into his shirt.
“Am I bleeding?” He asked, letting his own shirt fall down and turning so Grantaire could see his back. “And please pull your jeans up.” He added fondly.
Grantaire complied, and looked at the marks he’d left down Combeferre’s back with a mixture of pride and guilt. “A little bit. Sorry.” He took a tissue from the discarded packet on the floor and dabbed the blood away gently.
“Is it on my shirt?” Combeferre asked in an amused voice.
“It is not. Surprisingly.”
Combeferre laughed. “Small mercys, I suppose. Thank god I don’t have to keep my jacket on all day. It’s ever so warm in here.” He remarked as he buttoned up his shirt.
“Yes they really should fix the air con in this elevator. Look at me, I’m sweating.” Grantaire added with a grin, wiping his damp hair back from his forehead.
“Absolutely disgraceful.” Combeferre said in his most serious voice as he picked up the mess that had spilled from his bag, putting it back neatly. He sat with his back against the wall and held an arm out invitingly to Grantaire, pulling him close to his chest and wrapping both arms around he as he kissed the top of his head.
“You know, I really don’t get what Pontmercy has against elevators. I’m sure he wouldn’t be half as scared if Cosette was with him.” Grantaire remarked dryly, twisting to look up at Combeferre, whose warm grin began to spread across his face. He flicked his eyes down to meet Grantaire’s as he pushed his glasses up, and they both began to laugh.
(They were stuck in the lift for four hours after that.)