Yeah, just your usual Grantaire/Enjrolas type thing. Les Miserables belongs to somebody else, not me. Review please! Thanks.
"Two At One Shot"
Enjrolas bolted up the stairs and into the second-floor room. There he saw bodies strewn across the floor, all familiar and all dead. The unmoving figure that jolted him most was that of Grantaire, sitting on a chair with his head on the table. He must have had been shot where he had been left before the battle. Seeking distraction from the death of his companion (if not exactly a beloved one), Enjrolas pulled the billiard table between himself and the door: a feeble defense, but still it would separate him from any attackers that came.
A noise from nearby made Enjrolas jump and look around. None of the bodies on the ground stirred, no guards came up the stairs. Enjrolas looked up to the body of Grantaire, and saw him sit up. "Where am I?" was the first question out of the drunk man's mouth.
"In battle," was Enjrolas' stern reply.
"The people?" asked Grantaire, gesturing to the people around him.
Grantaire lifted himself off the chair and walked toward Enjrolas with more steadiness than a usual drunkard. He placed one hand on Enjrolas' arm and the other on his waist and looked him directly and steadily in the eye. Enjrolas returned the gaze, but made no other movement.
"I've always liked you, y'know," Grantaire said. Enjrolas made no response. "So strong, brave… ha! Other men like you I found to be foolish, but you…"
The only movement was in Enjrolas' eyes, which shifted slightly, like ice melting: less hard, less cold.
Slowly, but not with hesitation, Grantaire leaned into his companion, pressing their lips together. Enjrolas moved his hands to Grantaire's waist and leaned into the kiss, pulling their bodies close together. Suddenly, a crash echoed through the room, causing the two to break apart.
"They're coming," said Enjrolas, picking up the stump of his carbine. "Go back to the table, pretend that you're dead. Don't let them kill you, please, for my sake." Enjrolas looked into the eyes of his former companion, now friend, and maybe lover if they made it through this. Grantaire drew a breath as if he were about to protest, but as Enjrolas' eyes froze again, he submitted and laid himself across the table. "Vive la République" whispered Grantaire as he met the eyes of the man he loved for what might be the last time. Enjrolas sadly shook his head and turned away to meet the fate he had always been prepared to face.