A Slow Boil
Summary: Fill for the Les Miserables kink meme. Prompt: "Enjolras and Grantaire having an intensively hot make-out session."
Author's Note: Oh my God, I just realized the title of this story sounds like something from a porno. *Headdesk*
Disclaimer: I don't own Les Miserables. It belongs to Victor Hugo.
The back of Grantaire's legs hit the bed, and he dropped onto the mattress. Enjolras followed after quickly, climbing atop the dark-haired man and divesting himself of his shirt, leaving him bare-chested. One he had done so, Enjolras leaned down and seized Grantaire in a rough kiss, taking time to bite at the man's lower-lip and fist a hand in his hair before rocking his hips back and forth to create a friction that left the older man gasping for breath.
Grantaire, who had been naked from the waist-down upon reaching the bed, drew his nails down Enjolras's chest with one hand and brazenly groped the bulge in the blonde's trousers. It earned a growl that vibrated against his teeth and tongue, made him shiver and groan and grope harder. Enjolras's growl was louder this time, and he gave Grantaire's hair a sharp tug before biting his way down the drunkard's jaw, his neck (lingering to ensure very visible marks later on), and then down to his chest.
Enjolras licked and kissed and ran his teeth along the heated skin, pressing his tongue down on a nipple before biting with moderate pressure, making Grantaire whimper with want. Sweat glistened on their skin, and when Enjolras came up for another kiss they could taste salt in his mouth.
There Enjolras stayed, mouth molding to fit Grantaire's, lips slipping and noses bumping. They lost speed, the pace becoming a little easier, but none of their passion: Grantaire's hands came up to rest on Enjolras's lower back, fingers slipping on slick skin, and Enjolras pressed their chests together as their tongues entwined. His hand, however, dropped down lower, lower, sliding between the two until it found the growing lump in Grantaire's own trousers, sending Grantaire arching off the bed with a sensuous, helpless moan-
"Ohhhhhh Christ- stop, just stop, it is too fucking hot for this."
Enjolras dropped his head to Grantaire's shoulder, panting. "I know." He rolled off of the older man and dropped down onto the bed beside him. The sheets were already soaked with sweat that had been quickly produced from the oppressive heat of the day. The pair had tried to alleviate their suffering with a bit of fun, but found that the heat their bodies generated in the act only made conditions that much more unbearable.
"Do you suppose the world is melting from the force of this heat? I believe it is. Soon the world will only be a puddle of goo in the vast expanse of the universe."
"I believe the heat is melting your brain." Enjolras countered with a soft grunt, and only just managed to avoid tacking on something snippy about how there wasn't much of Grantaire's brain left to destroy anyway.
Then, by some miracle of the universe, a soft breeze briefly drifted in through the open window, and both of them moaned from it. "On a day like this, it's even better than your mouth." Grantaire murmured, shutting his eyes and going almost alarmingly limp.
Enjolras had already shut his eyes, but opened one at that declaration and might have glared if he had the energy (and didn't agree to an extent). "Whether it is or not, it's best you watch comments like that if you still want access to my mouth on cooler days."
Grantaire's eyes popped open in alarm. "Sorry, sorry."
"You will be, once I can move again."
Here is your "intensely hot" make-out session. *Rimshot*
I am very sorry (Nope not sorry not even slightly).