Disclaimer: I neither own nor make money from these characters and/or name brands mentioned in this fic. I make no money from anything. Really.
Author's Notes: This is my first Les Mis fic, so feedback is much appreciated!
Grantaire dropped down onto the concrete steps at the back of the church, the remains of his tuxedo tight and uncomfortable. His tie was long since gone as were his jacket and vest. Still, he should have brought jeans.
Enjolras wasn't faring much better, from what Grantaire could see. It was a warm night, and he had left the air conditioned church hall to sit out in the humidity. His jacket, previously perfectly pressed, was laid on the grass beside him, his tie on top of it, and two, no three, of his shirt buttons were undone. He had retained the baby blue vest, and it made his waist look spectacularly slender.
Reaching over, Grantaire stole the blue plastic cup from which Enjolras was drinking and tipped it against his own lips only to pull it back with a startled cough.
"Shit, Apollo, that's straight whiskey."
Enjolras shrugged and reached for the cup; Grantaire lifted it out of his reach and then, when the blonde relented, took a drink. He handed it back.
"Should I be worried?" he questioned. Enjolras didn't really drink, not in public, and not straight whiskey.
There was a moment of quiet, and they listened to the revelry inside. Enjolras wasn't the only one drinking.
"It was a nice wedding," Grantaire said, because it was the kind of thing you said after your friend got married. "They're too perfect for each other."
"Don't," Enjolras said quietly, shaking his head.
Grantaire gave up on the chatter and studied the other instead. There wasn't much to see, Enjolras as solemn and closed off as usual. He reached up a hand, wiping the sweat from where it was gathering on his brow, making a tiny moue of displeasure.
"Want to go back in?" Grantaire asked. It was too hot to be out here, especially without a cigarette.
"Go ahead," Enjolras said. He took another drink and didn't cough; Grantaire marveled and wondered exactly how much he had already had. Sighing, the dark haired man leaned back a bit more on the step.
"Are you mad at me?" he questioned.
No, Enjolras shook his head. He took another drink, finishing the cup; he set in on the grass beside his coat.
"I'm sorry, okay?" Grantaire said, because that was the worst denial he'd ever seen and Enjolras was drinking and he was pretty sure it was his fault. Wasn't it always his fault?
"I'm not mad."
"Yeah, right. I'm sorry. I just…I couldn't. Not here, not in front of all Cosette's uppity friends and Marius's grandpa and everybody."
"It's fine," Enjolras said, not looking at him.
There were a few more awkward minutes of silence.
"It's not fine!" Grantaire huffed, dragging the stiff collar of his shirt away from his neck only to have it fall back. He pushed at his hair. "God, it's hot. Let's go in, come on."
No, Enjolras shook his head again.
"Enj, come on. I'm dying out here."
"Go on in. I'll be there in a minute."
"I said I was sorry," Grantaire reiterated, placing a hand on the blonde's knee. When there was no reaction, he pressed his lips together and tried again. "I'll dance with you if you come back in. Come on, fuck what they think."
"You don't have to do that," Enjolras said, still calm but not looking at him now.
"I didn't mean to upset you."
"Please stop saying that," Grantaire begged, feeling a tinge of desperation at having clearly upset the other. Not that disagreements were terribly unusual experiences, but, in ninety-nine percent of cases, he made Enjolras angry; they argued, fought, and had fantastic angry sex. Enjolras didn't sulk, and he certainly didn't try to hide his displeasure at Grantaire.
Enjolras then offered him what had to be the worst excuse for a smile ever. Seriously.
"You're not gonna cry are you?" Because if Apollo was going to cry, Grantaire was going to lose it.
"Of course not."
"Grantaire, it's fi—it's alright. I understand." He turned away, but not before the dark haired man caught the brief look of dejection.
"I hurt your feelings."
He sounded four, but Grantaire was trying not to grab Enjolras and hug him until that look stopped being on his face.
He was sorry. When Enjolras had walked up to him and put a hand on his shoulder, Grantaire hadn't pulled back, and he'd let the other stand close there while Marius finished babbling about where he was going to take Cosette on their honeymoon. However, when Enjolras had asked, rather casually, if Grantaire wanted to dance, the artist had said no, not in front of these people. The hand on his shoulder had fallen away, and Enjolras had left without another word.
An hour later, Grantaire was in this current mess.
"I didn't mean it," he tried. Grantaire stood up and offered a hand. "I was just being stupid. Come on, let's go it. I'll get you—"
"I hate it," Enjolras said suddenly. Grantaire sat back down.
"Yeah, I'm pretty sure it was me," he tried to smile, putting his hand back on Enjolras's knee.
"No. I hate," a shake of his head, his hands tightening into fists, "I hate that we live in a world where people judge. I hate that they care that I'm dancing with you, not because it's you or it's me, but because we're both men. And I hate that you care what those people think because that is just—
"Fuck, Grantaire. I punched a guy at the Peace Rally last year and ended up in jail, and that didn't bother you, you came and got me, no question. I crashed the summer concert series with Courfeyrac and got drug off stage, and you vouched for me and got me away from security. I jumped up on the damn table at the student union and you stood right there beside me, smiling. But here…
"I don't want you to have to be ashamed of me, of us, not even for a second. I don't want it to be this way."
Okay, this time Grantaire really couldn't resist the hug. Grabbing Enjolras by the shoulder, the older man drug him into a hug, letting him burry his face against Grantaire's chest and latch onto his waist. Though it was a rare thing, drunk Enjolras gave the best hugs, ones with no restraint. Grantaire let him hold on, freeing only one hand to brush down a few blonde curls that were trying to stick to his face.
"I love you," he said gently. "I really love you."
Enjolras nodded against him, then there was a muffled, "Love you too."
It was nice, even though it was too hot to be holding someone so close. Enjolras seemed to realize this and excavated himself from half on top of the other. Sitting back, he scrubbed at his face a little and pushed back his hair.
"Listen," Grantaire requested, grabbing his hand and meeting his eyes, "I'm never, ever ashamed of you."
Enjolras nodded and leaned in to kiss him gently.
"Want to go in there and embarrass everyone else? We can get the DJ t play Bad Romance," Grantaire smiled, completely willing, he realized, to sacrifice any kind of dignity he had (and, shit, there wasn't much of that anyhow) to reassure his lover.
"Let's not," Enjolras decided. "I don't care about it. I just want the world to be better."
"'Course you do," Grantaire shook his head. "Why should Apollo concern himself with one wedding reception when there's a whole world of injustice waiting?"
Ah, there was a tiny smile, and Enjolras bumped his shoulder casually against Grantaire's.
"Marry me," Grantaire said suddenly.
"I don't believe in marriage," Enjolras replied as he studied his face, smile still lingering.
"Okay," Grantaire returned without missing a beat, "then join me in a life-long equal partnership not bound by unnecessary government documents and artificial sanctions that serve only to reinforce heterosexual dualism for the purpose of lower taxation but is instead cemented by personal commitments and promises that people give to each other based on mutual affection."
"Would I still get a ring?"
"Yeah, you'd still get a ring."
Enjolras laughed, nudged his shoulder again.
"I love you," Grantaire said again, because his proposal may or may not have been a joke. He's not really sure.