Glass for Glass

Rating: R/M

Genre: Humor/Romance

Summary: Fill for the Les Miserables kink meme. Sequel-ish to Take the Bottle Back. Grantaire and Enjolras get into a drinking contest. Naturally, things get a bit carried away. Warning: Sexual content, consent issues (both parties are reasonably drunk).

Author's Note: Didn't think I'd end up doing any kind of follow-up to Take the Bottle Back, but inspiration is funny like that.

Disclaimer: I don't own Les Miserables. It belongs to Victor Hugo.


"You have a stronger tolerance than I expected, Apollo."

"I have a high tolerance for most things, Grantaire."

Enjolras's gaze was as hard and cool as a stone in the middle of winter as he tipped back another shot, and it only served to provoke Grantaire further. "Mm, except slights against a man you've never even met. I mean really, Enjolras- Sometimes I wonder if maybe you'd speak kindlier of me if we had never met."

"That is highly likely." Enjolras retorted, and though the expression of hurt Grantaire offered was exaggerated, it was not feigned.

"You wound me! But I am nothing if not inured to your sharp tongue. The fact that my own was not cut to ribbons last month is evidence of that."

Enjolras dropped his mug- fortunately he had already drained its contents, and nothing was lost. Grantaire was- and this was really the only way to properly describe it- positively euphoric, delighted that he had succeeded not once, but twice to break through that marble to the human beneath.

A few of their friends tittered into their hands before someone- Combeferre, from the sounds of it- cleared his throat. Grantaire glanced over and saw their beloved guide giving Bossuet, Bahorel and Courfeyrac the same stern glare a father would give his misbehaving children. He had been the one to direct everyone back to their business a month prior, following the Incident That We Do Not Discuss that Grantaire had instigated. Everyone had done a surprisingly good job at forgetting that any of it ever happened, but clearly Enjolras hadn't.

The blonde retrieved his mug and eyed Grantaire with renewed iciness. "That was a dirty move." He said as he set about filling his cup again.

"As was taking away my bottle." Grantaire responded with a smugness that he would have deplored seeing on anyone else's face. "But come now, Enjolras, hurry up and refill. Wouldn't want you to fall behind, would you? I can't imagine how wounded your pride would be if you were to lose to a debased fool such as myself. Why, I think it might-"

"Drink." Enjolras hissed before aggressively tilting his drink back.

If Grantaire had known that speaking poorly of Rousseau would provoke such a reaction, he would have dragged him, The Social Contract and anything else about the man through the mud ages ago if only to get a rise out of Enjolras. As it was, Grantaire didn't honestly care either way about Rousseau or his politics; he simply felt like arguing on this particular night, and Enjolras was either in a bad mood or simply completely intolerant of any slight against Rousseau to just let it pass.

Enjolras insisted that Grantaire retract his negative opinion. Grantaire, who had already had a few drinks, told Enjolras with prose worthy of Hugo, where he could stick that request because "Do not I, as a fellow citizen, have a right to express my opinion? Or are you so shaky in your beliefs that you cannot tolerate dissent for fear of the cracks in your logic showing?"

Grantaire would tentatively say that this was the closest Enjolras had ever come to just up and slapping him. But their resident Greek deity was nothing if not composed, and so Enjolras merely grew incredibly rigid (immediately followed by everyone in their immediate vicinity falling completely silent), and took three paces in Grantaire's direction. "I can tolerate dissent, Grantaire. What I cannot tolerate is you mocking my beliefs, which fall very closely in line with Rousseau's."

Grantaire had rolled his eyes. "For one thing, I am not mocking your beliefs- I am mocking Rousseau. Secondly, Courfeyrac tells me-" At that, Courfeyrac had pointedly scooted his chair back until he was mostly hidden by Jehan and Bahorel. "-that you could not even bear to hear that Rousseau abandoned his children- which is a very true fact, whether you like it or not- without jumping to the man's defense. I dare say that you fear to hear him criticized because someone might tarnish your idol with an unflattering truth."

"I am capable of hearing Rousseau properly criticized. I simply did not want to hear him being criticized for something so petty."

It should be noted that Grantaire, whose own father had left his mother when he was only four and not contacted either wife or son since, took considerable offense to the idea of a child being abandoned by a parent considered a 'petty' matter. He didn't care to make a distinction between his situation and the fact that Rousseau's children had been given to an orphanage for their care- to him, abandonment was abandonment, and the entire subject was still a bit raw for him.

It was very likely that Enjolras hadn't meant for it to come out the way that it had sounded. More likely than not he was speaking in relative terms, that Rousseau's contributions to society outweighed his choice as a parent. That, or he thought that giving one's children to an orphanage's care as infants wasn't as terrible as, say, leaving them on the streets, or as a man leaving his family and never caring enough to contact them again.

And if Grantaire had spoken up about it, Enjolras would undoubtedly have apologized, because the one thing he would never do was deliberately wound any of the members of the ABC so personally. Not even Grantaire, regardless of how often and well he managed to work on their illustrious leader's nerves.

But Grantaire didn't much feel like airing his personal affairs out for all of their friends to hear, and instead responded (with no small amount of acidity in his voice), "You could no more stand dissent from your opinions than you could out-drink me, my fair Apollo."

Enjolras's breathing had become almost frighteningly audible. "Are you quite certain of that, Grantaire?"

Thus, we come to the present.

Really, Grantaire knew that Enjolras was capable of hearing dissent and conceding points of arguments to others. One of Enjolras's many admirable traits that Grantaire held in high regard was his maturity, and he was more than intelligent enough to argue his beliefs to anyone. But that 'petty' remark had stung a little deeper than any Enjolras had offered before; and honestly, it was rare that Grantaire was able to work his way under the other man's skin so well, with an exception to last month's Incident. Normally Enjolras's regard for him didn't exceed moderate irritation for Grantaire's drunkenness.

And frankly, Enjolras was an exquisite sight when he was fired up. To have it directed at Grantaire was worth any further painful little barbs he would have to endure in seeing it through.

Grantaire had to give Enjolras credit: For a man who rarely (if ever) drank anything stronger than wine, Enjolras held his liquor remarkably well for a fair amount of time. Part of this endurance was no doubt fueled by sheer force of will: Enjolras would sooner eat Courfeyrac's hat before conceding defeat to Grantaire.

However, the older man had no doubt that Enjolras was regretting the decision to engage in this contest of theirs, because- again- Enjolras was not stupid, and had to know that the possibility of him out-drinking Grantaire were slim to none. If not for Enjolras's pride, he probably would have backed out right at the beginning. But he had agreed, and he had pressed on through several drinks over the next hour, and…


Enjolras was leaning against the table as he drank, and he was taking in the alcohol much more slowly than he had been before. He seemed a bit unsteady, upper-body swaying slightly unless he braced himself against the table with his free hand. His eyes were a little glazed, and Grantaire could tell that Enjolras was having trouble focusing on any particular object for an extended amount of time.

"How are you, Enjolras?"

Enjolras offered a noncommittal noise and twitched his shoulders. The fact that he offered anything less than a complete sentence confirmed that he was on the wrong side of drunk- if he were being choked to death, Enjolras was the kind of man that would still insist on forming a proper sentence to call for help.

"Enjolras?" Combeferre plied gently. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine." Enjolras grunted. He went to set his mug down on the table for a moment and ended up dropping it onto the floor.

Grantaire's chest started heaving with silent laughter. "You're certain about that?"

"Quiet." Enjolras's voice still sounded surprisingly steady- but then, he'd cut his sentences down to only one or two words, so it was possible that a longer sentence might reveal something different.

Grantaire, on the other hand, was drunk, but not drunker than Enjolras. He had had years to build up his tolerance to alcohol, and he seemed to generally be better at holding his liquor than others. "You're starting to look a little wobbly, Enjolras. Would you like to stop?"

"I would like you to shut up. About- About this and Rousseau." Ah yes, and there was the slight waver in Enjolras's voice as he spoke. But still, it was slight, and Grantaire was impressed.

It was only a matter of time before Enjolras became so drunk that he wasn't fun anymore; the blonde was clearly in for the long-haul, determined to out-drink Grantaire or drown himself in alcohol in the attempt. Grantaire didn't want to humiliate Enjolras, but he didn't want to let this beautiful opportunity to needle the younger man a little bit pass by untouched, either.

Grantaire set his mug down. "Our little contest aside, I may be persuaded to keep my trap shut about your precious social reformer in the future." He then edged forward until he had invaded Enjolras's personal space, biting his lip and blinking sweetly at his golden-haired god. "What will you give me for my silence, Enjolras? I think it will not come cheaply."

The word 'cheaply' had barely left Grantaire's mouth before Enjolras's had seized it in a brutal kiss.

Someone- it sounded like it may have been Courfeyrac or Jehan- let out a loud croak-squeak noise of shock. Someone else- unmistakably Bahorel- let out a whistle. As it was, most of the usual crowd had cleared out a while ago, and so at the very least their audience was smaller than it had been last time.

Enjolras turned them so that Grantaire was pressed against the table, one hand bracing them against the wooden surface and another curled into Grantaire's hair. The older man had, by this time, started responding to the kiss; he was also silently wondering how in the world Enjolras had learned to kiss like this, as chaste as they all supposed him to be-?

…Oh, wait. Enjolras had been kissed before.

By Grantaire. Right. Foolish to forget that.

"Should- Should- Should we be doing something?" He heard Jehan squeak.

Grantaire reflexively braced himself against the table with his hands, and Enjolras took the opportunity to free up his right hand so that he could reach down and grab Grantaire through his trousers- he was already half-hard.

"Throwing water on them?"

One arm came up to wrap around Enjolras's shoulders and tug him closer. They hadn't quite parted for breath, choosing to take advantage of the moments when their mouths weren't perfectly aligned and breathing through their noses. Grantaire was making barely-audible, incoherent noises as Enjolras pressed and massaged and groped him; he wanted to return the favor but Enjolras's arm was in the way and Grantaire's were currently preoccupied keeping them upright and in place.

"Getting a stick and prying them apart?"

Enjolras didn't let up until Grantaire made a very easy to hear noise and felt wetness in his pants. Damn.

They parted, and both gasped for breath, Grantaire more so than Enjolras; the latter stumbled back while the former put all of his weight on the table so as not to fall. Grantaire chanced a glance to his left and saw their friends gaping at them in a mix of disbelief and horror. Damn.

And then Grantaire looked back at Enjolras, who had started to chuckle lowly. "I certainly… Wiped the smile off of your face. Didn't I, Grantaire?" He remarked, a smirk forming on his own face before more or less collapsing into a chair. He was hard as well. Double-damn.

There was a long moment of silence as Grantaire's brain attempted to reassemble itself. Once it had, he straightened up, adjusted his vest (which Enjolras had messed up in the midst of… Whatever that was) and grabbed his coat from the back of his chair. "Well, I should be getting home. Now. Right now. As soon as possible." He said, deliberately trying to make sure that the jacket covered certain parts of his trousers. "Good night everyone! I don't suggest you drink anymore, Enjolras."

"You'll keep your peace about Rousseau in the future, Grantaire." Enjolras growled. If Grantaire didn't know for a fact that he was completely and utterly wasted, he would swear the man was sober.

"Of course, of course. I will readily admit that you-" Grantaire hesitated as he realized, bemused, "Well, you didn't beat me at the drinking part, but- Well, we never did finish- But I certainly wasn't expecting that, so you might say that you won at- Hell, I'm no sore loser. You won. Good night." All of that was said more or less to himself before leaving.

Silence lingered in Grantaire's wake. And then-

"Are we really expected not to address this? Ever again?"


"Because this is the second time something like this has happened."


"I mean really, if they're going to do this every bloody meeting we might as well just talk about it!"