A little Les Mis one-shot in honor of Barricade Day!
Victor Hugo owns Les Mis. I am not Victor Hugo.
The candles were burning low, bathing the little room in a dull glow, offset by the pure, pale sliver of moonlight streaming in from the window, illuminating the room's only two inhabitants , the rest having left somewhere between eleven at night and one in the morning – hours ago – in questionable states of sobriety. The owners of the café Mausin had closed up shop not long after, accustomed to various members of the group that called themselves Les Amis de l'ABC staying till odd hours of the morning – sometimes beyond – and trusting the stragglers to either pass the night sprawled across the table in a strong mix of exhaustion and inebriation or eventually leave and lock the door behind them. All this, however, was lost on the two inhabitants, locked in a verbal battle for going on four hours now.
What had begun as an offhand remark muttered over the lip of a wine bottle had led to a discussion which had evolved to a debate, which was quickly deteriorating into a full-blown argument.
The two men faced each other, seated in different poses of agitation.
"You can talk till you are blue in the face, Enjolras," one of the men said, waving a long-empty wine bottle (remarkably the only one of the night) dismissively. "And I've seen you do it before. But nothing you can say will change my mind. All your fancy words and big ideas, are those going to stop the bullets when they come? You stand here every night spouting off your Republican ideas of revolution and barricades but what do you know? You are just a little bourgeois boy with a silver tongue and a large vocabulary but no knowledge of true reality."
"Reality?" the man called Enjolras growled, blue eyes glinting dangerously.
"Yes, reality," the first man sneered, barely repressing a satisfied smirk at having succeeded in pushing his opponent's buttons. "Do you know what that is?" he mocked. "Do you know what the reality of this is?" He waved his hand vaguely as if to encompass the entire room and everything it stood for. "You are going to die. You will be killed if you keep this up, and your friends along with you."
Hurt flashed in Enjolras' eyes for a millisecond and he began to regret his words. Provoking Enjolras had always one of his favorite past times but causing him harm was always the very last thing he would want to do. He would just as soon cut off his right hand than be the cause of any pain befalling such a strong, passionate, glorious man as the one who sat before him.
The pain was gone as soon as it came, however, and a new type of determination, alive and aflame took its place as Enjolras jumped to his feet, towering over the darker man.
"You do not understand, Grantaire! You will never understand, you lousy, drunken bastard! This is bigger than me! Bigger than any of us!" he roared, blue eyes bright, cheeks flushed, breathing hard. "When will you realize that? Our lives count for nothing in the grand scheme of this fight. Whether we live or die does not matter in the least if our actions manage to rally the people and incite the rebelling all are craving deep within their bones. I understand that, as do the other Amis. But you," he spat with a contemptuous look and an accusatory jab of the finger, "You with nothing but your liquor and your cynicism. Will you never understand?"
"Will you ever understand the value of human life?" Grantaire demanded, jumping to his feet as well, meeting the impassioned would-be-revolutionary eye to eye. "You sit in your room, holed up writing speech after treatise after petition, or spend your time preaching your lofty ideals and promises to your adoring public," he mocked. "Even here you are too preoccupied to hold any decent conversations with those you call your 'Amis'. When will you start treating them like your friends? You don't care whether you live or die because you have never lived!" he snarled. "You hide behind this mask, pretending your every thought is consumed with your beloved Patria," he spit the name out like a curse, "but I know better because I have lived. You keep yourself apart from all others, little demigod on your pedestal, shouting orders and overseeing with your disdain, because you are afraid. You say you're willing to charge into battle and die in a moment's notice but you're too cowardly to speak freely with your friends. I may be a drunk but at least I have the courage to accept my own weaknesses and inadequacies. What is it you are hiding, Enjolras?"
Enjolras' chest was heaving and his eyes glittering in a way that promised the infliction of pain but Grantaire could no longer stop himself. "What is it that you would rather die than accept? What are you so afraid of? Act like a damn human for once, I dare you."
There was a moment of very tense silence, just a fraction of a second in which each stared at the other, breathing hard, faces red, veins pounding, fists clenched, eyes wild.
For a mere breath, they stood as thus.
The next thing Grantaire knew, Enjolras had fisted his hands in the fabric of Grantaire's lapels and was quickly forcing him backwards, never breaking eye contact as his stormy eyes bored into those of his opponent.
Grantaire let out a gasp as he was slammed forcefully into a wall. He had one wild moment to gaze in shock at his aggressor, just enough time to see his eyes ablaze with an unfamiliar emotion, just enough time to anticipate the strike that never came before Enjolras' lips suddenly crashed down upon his in a searing kiss.
Grantaire gasped in shock as Enjolras pulled away, and looked disbelievingly up at the fiery young man who had captured his eye and his heart so long ago.
There was just enough time for Grantaire to resist, had he been of mind to, but to do such a thing seemed near sacrilege, and just as soon as Enjolras' lips had left, they were back, kissing Grantaire with a hunger that weakened his knees.
Finally having overcome his shock, and decided it would be utmost blasphemy to question that which he had been longing for for so long, Grantaire responded, kissing him with the fervor and hunger of a man starved for far too long. As he wrapped his arms around the other man, Grantaire mused that he could die happy, right there and then, with the weight of Enjolras' lean frame forcing him against the wall, his strong back beneath his fingers, and his lips on his, near bruising in a delicious desire Grantaire had thought him incapable of.
Gulping for breath, Enjolras trailed one hand down to Grantaire's hip, leaving the other fisted in his vest, holding him in place – as if Grantaire had the wish or ability to move at all. He captured his lips again and Grantaire groaned at the contact, lips parting in surprise.
Enjolras kissed like vodka tasted – burning, searing, and utterly addictive.
Enjolras took advantage of his parted lips to deepen the kiss, and Grantaire sighed as he tangled his fingers in the blond curls of his aggressor. He gave the curls a gentle tug, nails scraping lightly against the blonde's scalp, and Enjolras let out a feral growl before plunging his tongue past Grantaire's lips. Grantaire groaned louder as the silver tongue explored his mouth and battled with his own. Passion and determination overrode inexperience, it seemed to Grantaire, for these were surely no schoolboy fumblings. Thoughts left his mind however, as Enjolras swept against a soft spot on the roof of his mouth that had him groaning again.
Enjolras' fingers trailed up Grantaire's neck – earning him a sharp intake of breath – and fisted in the inky black mop atop the artist's head, pulling his face closer. Grantaire unwillingly broke the kiss, tilting his head up and gasping desperately for oxygen to clear his hazy mind.
Enjolras took advantage of his exposed neck to pepper kisses along the tanned flesh, paying extra attention to his pulse point after a well-placed slip of the tongue had caused Grantaire to sigh and toss his head back farther to grant him easier access. He nipped and sucked and licked at the spot, marking it as his own, as his partner pressed harder against the wall, unable to continue standing on his own.
He stepped closer until they were pressed flush against each other and continued his ministrations. He licked up the darker man's neck, not deterred in the slightest by Grantaire's two-day-old stubble, ending the journey with a light flick of the tongue below his earlobe.
"Enjolras," Grantaire breathed as his breath hitched, lust unmistakable in what would otherwise be considered a worshipful tone.
Caught by surprise at Grantaire's voice, Enjolras pulled back and drank in the sight before him. Hair wild, eyes heavy lidded, lips red and cheeks bright with something other than anger or drink entirely, a mark already blooming on his neck, Grantaire stared back.
Seemingly unable to control himself, Enjolras dove for Grantaire enthusiastically, and Grantaire slammed back into the wall. One arm tight around his waist, hand splayed wide across the small of his back, and the other and tangled in the mess of inky black hair, Enjolras pressed against him as if trying to mold their two bodies into one. Grantaire groaned throatily when he felt Enjolras' arousal pressing against his thigh and Enjolras seized him tighter with a growl and thrust against him.
Grantaire's breath caught, and Enjolras immediately pulled away.
Barely suppressing a whine of protest, Grantaire opened his eyes to find Enjolras looking uncomfortably fixated on a point three inches to the right of Grantaire's left shoulder, looking embarrassed by his actions.
He cleared his throat. "I-" His voice was throaty, gravelly with lust. "I-"
But Grantaire had often found words superfluous.
He pulled Enjolras back to him and slotted his lips against his. Reaching up to cradle Enjolras' strong jaw, he tilted his head and deepened the kiss, taking his turn to explore Enjolras' mouth. Stroking his tongue across the roof of his mouth as Enjolras had done, Grantaire pulled him closer still and ground his hips against him.
Enjolras gasped and let out a quiet "Oh," whole body immobile, eyes screwed shut, lips parted. Grantaire thought that he had never before seen anything quite so beautiful, so enticing. He allowed Enjolras a moment to revel in the feeling; after all, he was new to such things. Enjolras groaned softly and leaned back in for another kiss. He ground his hips experimentally against Grantaire's and, satisfied with the reaction elicited from the rather vocal artist, fell into a tentative rhythm.
Grantaire grinned against his lips, caught between amazed disbelief that this was his reality and amusement towards his partner's suddenly tentative advances.
"Now is not the time to be shy, Enj," he breathed. "Never have been before, Lord, please don't start now," he murmured in between kisses to Enjolras' strong jaw.
"I've no idea what I'm doing," Enjolras confessed, trailing his hands tantalizingly slowly down Grantaire's chest, bending his head to capture another kiss.
Grantaire had to bite his lips to keep the words "Like hell you don't" from slipping out his mouth as the hands grazed lower on his stomach. Instead he decided to challenge Enjolras further – because what was their relationship if not a constant series of challenges, pushing and goading each other to the brink? "Doesn't matter," he said. "Humans act on instinct."
He pulled away again, opening his mouth to speak, but Grantaire cut him off with a fierce kiss that was nearly as bruising as the one Enjolras had started with and ground his hips roughly against Enjolras. "Stop talking," he growled.
Enjolras made a soft noise that was nearly a whimper before regaining his senses and attacking Grantaire's lips with a primal fervor, fumbling with the buttons of his green vest.
If this was a dream, Grantaire was happy to sleep forever.
Frustrated with his inability to unfasten the remaining buttons, Enjolras pulled the fabric a bit too roughly and the vest flew apart, buttons flying every which way. Not as if Grantaire minded; he'd patched up far worse than a few buttons in the past.
Grantaire would have been the first to agree that this was not the time – nor the place, up against a café wall – for sweetness or softness, but he couldn't help the reverent way his fingers ghosted over the gold buttons of Enjolras' red waistcoat - that waistcoat Grantaire had been itching to rip off of him for months, but now that the time had inexplicably, miraculously come, couldn't bring himself to do it. Couldn't bring himself to desecrate that glorious, bright symbol of passion and all that embodied Enjolras. But that didn't stop him from dropping it to the ground carelessly along with his own.
Cravats were tossed, suspenders slid off strong, lean shoulders, shirts untucked and untied, and torsos explored.
The touch of Enjolras' warm, soft hands against his bare skin burned in a glorious way, and Grantaire felt unworthy yet overwhelmingly grateful as his calloused fingers drew patterns over the smooth, hard chest beneath them.
"We shouldn't-" Enjolras murmured, pulling away a bit.
Grantaire froze, still as a statue; eyes wide on Enjolras' face, feeling confused and lost as all hope and excitement drained from him with the suddenness of a burst pipe.
Catching sight of Grantaire's heartbroken face, Enjolras rushed to cradle his stubbly jaw in his hand, pressing soft kisses over every bit of Grantaire's face he could reach. "Oh, no," he said, sounding desperate. "Not like that. I just meant-" He pressed a tantalizing kiss to the corner of Grantaire's mouth. "Not here," he whispered, a breath away from Grantaire's lips.
Grantaire felt himself getting lost in the sharp cheekbones, in that one freckle at the corner of his right eye that he'd somehow missed in all this time, in the bright blue eyes of the man in front of him.
The question was barely audible, disbelief and wonder stealing his volume.
Enjolras answered with a kiss. "Follow me."
Both men scrambled to collect the fallen clothes from the floor of the common area of the café, and Enjolras led the way down the narrow back hallway, Grantaire nearly running behind him in his haste. He slipped into an empty room at the end of the hall. Grantaire followed his lead and merely tossed the clothes back to the floor as he closed the door behind them. Where they were or how Enjolras had known of it were questions beyond Grantaire's current mental capability.
In a second, Enjolras had reestablished their previous position, pinning Grantaire against the door and kissing him soundly, threading fingers through his hair, grinding his hips slowly against him as Grantaire had done. Neither could repress the soft groan that escaped their lips at the contact.
Grantaire wanted nothing more than to rip every stitch of clothing off the man before him and ravage him for hours, but he didn't dare, for fear of driving Enjolras away.
However, Enjolras seemed to be thinking along the same lines. He tugged at the fabric of Grantaire's shirt. "Need more of you," he said, voice low and deep with desire. Grantaire raised his arms immediately to help Enjolras pull the cloth over his head. Enjolras' shirt soon followed.
Next to Enjolras, he felt inadequate. Always had, but perhaps never so much as now, standing bare-chested mere inches from each other. Every burn and bruise and scar visible on his skin felt like a reminder of how unworthy he was of being in this position when compared to the smooth, unblemished chest of Enjolras.
If Enjolras cared, he didn't show it as he grazed fingers over the ridges and scars of Grantaire's chest, leaning down to kiss the worst of them. Enjolras' warm mouth against the thin skin of his torso fed a stronger fire within him as thoughts of that same mouth elsewhere began to fill his mind. He sighed as Enjolras placed a kiss to his hipbone and he couldn't help but thrust a bit towards the man now on his knees before him.
The sight of Enjolras in such a position - pink cheeked, pupils dilated, hair mussed, marked neck - was the stuff of dreams.
"I want-" he whispered, peeking up at Grantaire through lowered eyelashes, looking entirely too innocent for being in such an indecent position. "But I don't kn-"
"Later," Grantaire said, reaching down to grasp Enjolras' jaw and pull him back up for a kiss. He let his hands trail down the lean chest, coming to rest just above the waist o his trousers. "Can I?"
"What?" Enjolras asked breathlessly, eyes screwed shut tight as Grantaire licked a line along his collar bone, nipping lightly at the junction where graceful neck met sloping shoulder.
"Let me show you," he breathed, not fully conscious of the words spilling from his lips as he tugged lightly on the fabric at Enjolras' hips. "The benefits of being human."
The last few words were nearly lost to a growl as Enjolras kissed him bruisingly and ground torturously against him, a breathy "Please" pressed against his lips.
He used his grasp on Enjolras' hips as leverage to turn them, reversing their position so that Enjolras was now pressed against the door. He kissed his way down Enjolras' chest, memorizing every valley and ridge of the pale body.
Enjolras' breath hitched as Grantaire reached his waist band, dragging his tongue lazily from one hip to the other, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to both, letting his stubble scratch softly against Enjolras' sensitive skin. Enjolras let out a soft keening noise and knotted his fingers in Grantaire's hair, breathing sharply in anticipation.
Grantaire slipped his fingers under the waistband of the bothersome trousers and looked up to find Enjolras looking down at him, eyes hazy with expectancy, lust, and uncertainty.
"Tell me when to stop," Grantaire whispered, pressing another kiss to his hip before slowly sliding the fabric off his body, leaving the blonde completely bare, vulnerable, beautiful.
Grantaire didn't look away from Enjolras as he slowly reached out to take him in his hand, waiting for a refusal. Receiving none, he grasped him in his hand and was met with a sharp intake of breath that quickly turned into a moan as Grantaire began to stroke him. He was firm yet smooth under Grantaire's calloused hands, and it was all Grantaire could do to not come apart himself as he watched the man above him toss his head from side to side, curls flopping against bare shoulders, eyes closed tight in pleasure. He moved as slowly as he could, using every ounce of self-control in an attempt to make this last as long as possible.
Enjolras groaned in frustration and thrust into Grantaire's hand, seemingly beyond control. Grantaire did not speed up, however. Instead, he leaned down to lick slowly up his length.
For a moment, it seemed as if Enjolras had forgotten how to breathe until Grantaire took him in his mouth, bobbing his head leisurely up and down, eliciting a loud moan.
"Never," Enjolras croaked. Grantaire immediately froze and pulled back quickly, confused.
Enjolras' eyes flew open and his hips bucked at the sudden loss of contact. "Never stop. Please," he begs. "I-"
But his sentence quickly turned to a moan as Grantaire took him in his mouth again, moving a bit faster.
Enjolras pulled slightly at the hair tangled around his fingers, gently guiding Grantaire deeper. Grantaire hummed in pleasure at the mild sting from his scalp and swirled his tongue around him. Enjolras' head snapped back at this, a string of expletives falling from his swollen lips. Grantaire could sense his struggle to control his hips from thrusting into Grantaire's face and looked up to see Enjolras, face towards the ceiling in ecstasy, eyes shut, lips parted in an indecent pout. The graceful arc of his fair neck was exposed, chest rising and falling rapidly. His gold curls fell in a mess around him like a halo; the glint from the moonlight against his sweaty skin gave him an ethereal glow, and Grantaire wondered for the umpteenth time that night if it were possible for a dream to feel so real.
"Go head," he murmured around Enjolras, taking a moment to appreciate the effect the vibrations from his voice had on the man in question. "It's fine. Let go."
Enjolras let out a near obscene sound somewhere between a whine and a moan and did as he was told, allowing himself to thrust slightly into Grantaire's mouth.
Groans and expletives fell from both pairs of lips as Grantaire used his lips and tongue to turn the impenetrable revolutionary force that was Apollo into the trembling, moaning young man that was undeniably human.
With a cry that broke off in his throat, Enjolras spilled into Grantaire's mouth and Grantaire swallowed every drop without a thought.
He pulled away to catch his breath and looked up to Enjolras, watching him try to regain his. He was leaning, slumped against the door as if it was the only thing keeping him upright – which, Grantaire reasoned, it probably was.
He stood slowly, knees screaming in protest and though he knew he'd be sore in the morning he couldn't be bothered much to care.
Enjolras reached for him almost childishly and pulled him against his chest, holding him in a tight embrace. He kissed him firmly and pulled him toward the bed. They collapsed upon it in a tangle of limbs and Enjolras slowly stripped Grantaire of his remaining clothing, hands shaking with what Grantaire chalked up to nerves.
Then those trembling hands slid lower and suddenly they weren't quite so tentative and –
"You don't have to-"
It shouldn't have been be possible for Enjolras to look and sound so innocent as he did such indecent things to Grantaire's mind, body, soul.
"God, yes," Grantaire breathed.
Tentative fingers wrapped around him and he let out a hiss of pleasure. Enjolras started and pulled away, looking concerned, but Grantaire grabbed his wrist and guided him back. "Don't stop," he choked out.
His touch was light and timid; mere grazes against the oversensitive flesh.
Grantaire meant to swear, but it turned into a groan halfway through. "Don't tease me, Enjolras," he growled.
Seemingly emboldened, Enjolras gripped him tighter and fell into a rhythm and, inexperienced though his fingers may have been, Grantaire didn't last long, what with the fulfillment of such long felt desire and the memory of Enjolras' face in the throes of ecstasy fresh in his mind.
Enjolras jumped slightly, caught off guard as he stared down at his hand. After a moment, he smirked smugly, looking more than a little pleased with himself.
Grantaire beckoned to him softly, and to his surprise, Enjolras obeyed, lying down beside him and leaning in to steal a kiss.
This kiss was languid, slower and softer than any of the ones they'd shared before, and the way Enjolras cradled his cheek was so heartbreakingly tender that Grantaire wondered how it was that his heart remembered how to beat.
Hands trailed slowly and softly up and down ribcages, over strong shoulders and lean chests, through messy curls damp with sweat, kisses growing ever slower as the desire for sleep began to overtake them both.
"Thank you," Enjolras whispered finally. "For provoking me. I – Thank you."
"I-" but the words caught in Grantaire's throat, surprised by the softness in Enjolras' voice. He searched his mind for any word or phrase that could adequately express how he felt at that moment, but, finding none, settled for, "Thank you."
"Do you know how long I've been trying to resist this?" Enjolras asked, pressing a kiss to Grantaire's clavicle. "Resist you?"
"No," Grantaire whispered honestly, eyes wide in disbelief.
Enjolras smiled up at him. "Too long," he murmured against Grantaire's lips.
At a loss for words, Grantaire resorted to kissing him back softly, trying to convey every thought and emotion running through his body with each pass of his lips.
Enjolras fell asleep first and, as he looked down at him and brushed the curls from his sleeping face, Grantaire let himself feel a small sliver of hope.
Asleep, with one arm curled around Grantaire's waist, head tucked into the crook of Grantaire's neck, hair tousled, a small smile across his still-swollen lips, Enjolras looked more human than Grantaire had ever seen him before.
A/N: There you have it, my first ever Les Mis fic, first ever slash fic, and first ever full lemon fic... It was an experiment... Let me know what you think. Constructive criticism is more than welcome - it's begged for!