Work Text:
May fifteenth, Monday afternoon. The semester was over. It was technically summertime. It didn’t feel like summertime. Enjolras was still grading essays. Although, to be fair, the stack of papers on his desk was dwindling fairly quickly. He tried to get everyone who deserved it as close to an A as humanly possible. After hours of grading, he took pause and threw his window open to the temperate air, letting a dangerously brisk breeze blow through his office, ruffling the papers on his desk. His wrist ached from scrawling notes in the margins of papers, and he’d been waiting for a text all morning. His phone was dialed all the way up so he couldn’t miss it buzzing. It didn’t buzz. He wearily marked another A on the top of the paper with his red pen and set it down.
Then, with a noise he’d never thought he’d describe as dulcet, his phone went off. Enjolras seized his phone from the desk and opened it.
Blessedly, it was, finally, a text from Grantaire. Grantaire, who was no longer his student. Grantaire, who was unbearably hot. Grantaire, who liked him.
grantaire: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wvUQcnfwUUM
Enjolras clicked on the link.
care to explain why you sent me a mungo jerry song, he typed back.
The bubble indicating Grantaire’s reply took a moment to pop up.
cause it’s summertime, baby!!
not your baby
The next three messages came in rapid succession.
thought you were
baby
come over?
Enjolras felt his heart skip at least two beats. That couldn’t be good. He made himself wait a minute to reply so he didn’t seem too eager.
grading papers :(
mine’s an A, right?
you know i can’t tell you that
:( i HOPE it's an A
what, you don't want me to give you the D?
KAKDKDJDJSKDKDJDJSJS
B-A-B-Y!!!
give me THE D, not /A/ D
i could technically do both.
yes but you will NOT
u will give me only the former
it's up to my professorial discretion
hate u
do you really
- obviously
come over!!
papers!!
bring them home i’ll help you grade them? :)
this is all a part of your scheme to seduce me
ooh baby ur onto me
you're the one who made me wait the whole weekend to kiss you
you've made your bed
lie in it
gladly
as long as i can lie in it with u
PLEASE
is what u’ll be screaming when ur in the bed that i’ve made with me
I'M GIVING YOU A D.
THE D?
A D. 60% D.
fuck u!!!!!
i thought you wanted to
ENOUGH
if i come to ur office, strip, and drape myself seductively over ur desk will that help
it won't make me grade any faster but it would be enjoyable
damn
ok
i could bring u coffee instead
depends
on what?
will you be clothed
depends
...on what?
do u want me to be
i take my coffee with coconut milk and one sugar
15 minutes
Enjolras grinned.
-o-
True to his word, Grantaire arrived fifteen minutes later. He tapped smartly on Enjolras's door.
“Come on in,” Enjolras said mindlessly. He was down to the last fifteen papers and he was speeding his writing pace up exponentially because of it.
Grantaire opened the door. Enjolras looked up, saw him, and felt a smile that was almost too big breaking across his face. Try as he might, he couldn't seem to force his expression to stay neutral.
“Hi,” Enjolras said, his voice brimming with delight.
“Hello,” Grantaire said. He shut the door behind him. The door didn't have a lock but Enjolras was sure Grantaire would've clicked it for dramatic effect if it had. He put a to-go cup of iced coffee on Enjolras's desk and flashed him a winning smile. “I’m clothed,”
“More’s the pity,” Enjolras replied. He grabbed for the coffee and sucked a quarter of it down without paying Grantaire any attention. Maybe that was rude, but it was four PM and Enjolras was in a slump. Grantaire would live.
“So,” Grantaire said. He sat down in the chair in front of Enjolras's desk.
“I’m seeing a conspicuous lack of draping, seductive or otherwise,” Enjolras said. He took another sip of his coffee. When he glanced up, Grantaire was looking at him with a frighteningly fond expression.
“You’ve got papers everywhere,” Grantaire said. “I wouldn't want to be a nuisance.”
“Wouldn’t you, though,” Enjolras said. Grantaire’s eyes sparkled. “You love being a nuisance.”
“Only when it gets me something,” Grantaire said.
Enjolras marked the paper underneath his hand with a B and hummed. “What can I give you, then?”
“Baby,” Grantaire said. “Baby. What can't you give me.”
Enjolras felt a blush rising in his cheeks and was grateful to God that his complexion wouldn't show it. “I have,” he checked his stack again, just to be sure. “Fourteen papers. Can you wait through fourteen papers?”
“I dunno,” Grantaire said, smiling broadly. “I have a pretty packed afternoon schedule, you know, people to do and places to see, and--”
“Hush,” Enjolras groaned.
Grantaire laughed.
“So you'll be fine, then,” Enjolras said.
“I’ll be fine,” Grantaire confirmed. “Go ahead.”
Enjolras shot Grantaire one last look before he picked up his pen again. Tilting back in his chair, he grinned at Enjolras, his tongue between his teeth. Enjolras had a good poker face, but, you know, he was only human. He could only take so much of Grantaire's sparkly eyed smiles. He looked down and tried to focus on the paper, instead.
The breeze blew in warm through the window. Grantaire, after some struggle, was able to arrange himself so that his feet were propped up on the only open square of desk. He closed his eyes halfway against the sun shining through the window and fought the urge to fall asleep.
Enjolras looked up again. He was, he thought to himself, excellent at focusing. You don’t get a PhD without being able to dedicate yourself to something without stopping for as long as it took. But Enjolras found that he had to amend that statement. He was excellent at focusing, until Grantaire came into his office and sprawled in his chair with his feet on the desk and tipped his head back to expose the delicate column of his neck. Enjolras gripped his pen so tight he felt the plastic protest under his fingers.
“Grantaire,” Enjolras said. Grantaire lazily opened his eyes and raised an eyebrow. Enjolras’s pen creaked in his hand.
“Yes?” Grantaire replied, dragging the word out.
“I,” Enjolras said. He had to take a breath to make sure that he wouldn’t say anything that was monumentally stupid. “Sorry, I just. Can I kiss you?”
Grantaire blinked. The sun was hitting his cheekbones just right. He pursed his lips, pretending to consider. “Depends,”
“On what,” Enjolras said, only a little breathless.
“Have you graded my paper yet?”
“Please,” Enjolras said, almost petulant. “The semester’s over, Grantaire. I’m not technically your professor anymore.”
Grantaire, seemingly delighted at Enjolras’s frustration, took his feet off the desk and leaned forward. “Not what I’m worried about. Have you?”
Enjolras crossed his arms and affected a pout.
“I felt like my introduction was a little long,” Grantaire said. “So--”
“Oh my God,” Enjolras said. He dug around in the stack of graded papers and extricated Grantaire’s. He practically threw it across the desk at him.
Grantaire’s face lit up. “Holy shit,”
“Right,” Enjolras said. “Right, yes, it’s an A, it was a very good paper, can I kiss you n--”
“You have thirteen papers left,” Grantaire interrupted. “I counted,” He folded his essay in half and put it in his backpack. He leaned back and crossed his arms, put his feet back up on the desk, sort of smirked at Enjolras. “I’m waiting.”
“Fuck,” Enjolras said. “This is, it’s, it’s, it’s blackmail,”
“Tick tock,” Grantaire said crisply. He licked his lips.
Enjolras smoothed out the paper in front of him and attacked it with his red pen like a Paleolithic hunter trying to take down a mammoth. Grantaire snickered.
The next time he checked his watch, it was nearly three PM. He cleared his throat. Drowsily, Grantaire opened his warm brown eyes and watched Enjolras slide the last paper into his accordion folder.
“So,” Enjolras said.
He’d barely opened his mouth when Grantaire pushed out of his chair so fast it nearly toppled over, crossed around the desk, and sort of threw himself into Enjolras’s lap. Grantaire put his arms around Enjolras’s neck and grinned.
Delicately, Enjolras put his hands on Grantaire’s waist and squeezed a little. “Can we--”
“Please,” Grantaire said.
He kissed Enjolras. Enjolras was a little too eager on the first try and their teeth clicked. Grantaire huffed a laugh and dragged Enjolras closer, turned his head and fit their mouths together easily. It was not sheer perfection, not exactly, but it was about as close as it could get. Enjolras blinked, a little dazed when Grantaire pulled back and rested his forehead against Enjolras’s.
“You lowkey have coffee breath,” Grantaire said mildly. “You’re still hot, you know. Just tasting faintly of Arabica.”
“Oh my God,” Enjolras said. Grantaire laughed again. Enjolras couldn't find it within himself to be embarrassed about that. After all, Grantaire was the one who'd aided and abetted his caffeine addiction. “Get off, you fucker.”
“Nah,” Grantaire said. He bent down to kiss Enjolras's neck.
“I am not leaving my office with a massive hickey,” Enjolras sighed. “Let’s just go home.”
“Yours or mine?” Grantaire said. He nipped at the thin skin underneath Enjolras’s jaw.
“Fuck,” Enjolras exhaled. He let his head drop back against the seat. “Jesus, please, it doesn’t matter, let’s go,”
“Cool,” Grantaire said, muffled against his throat. “I’m finishing up here, baby, give me a second.”
“Grantaire,” Enjolras said. Grantaire laughed and rolled his hips against Enjolras’s again.
Enjolras had to flip the collar of his shirt up when they left to hide his neck.
-o-
Grantaire put his chin on Enjolras's shoulder in the elevator. Enjolras was frantically texting Combeferre that he needed to leave the apartment because Enjolras would not be held accountable for any emotional trauma resulting from noisy sex.
Grantaire snorted. “Poor Combeferre.”
“He’ll be fine,” Enjolras said. “I’ve ignored him having athletic sex with Courfeyrac numerous times.”
“Ooh,” Grantaire said. “Are we having athletic sex, then?”
“Ha,” Enjolras said. He wasn't out of shape, exactly, but he didn't have a lot of time to exercise in between classes and grading and preparing articles for publication, and he was fairly certain his body reflected that. “I’m not sure I'm in good enough shape for enough for that.”
“Disagree,” Grantaire said, with a lascivious look at Enjolras's forearms where they peeked out of the rolled up sleeves of his blazer. “But good. ‘Cause, y’know, I have to drink, like three Five-Hour Energies to do anything athletic, sex included.”
Enjolras’s laugh nearly veered into a cackle. “Wow, okay, I'll make a note of that, then,”
“For future reference?”
“Indeed,”
“Meaning we're gonna have more sex in the future?” Grantaire said slyly.
“God, I hope so,” he said.
The elevator dinged. Enjolras grabbed Grantaire's hand and towed him into the hallway. He fumbled for his keys in his bag. Just as he managed to disentangle them from his headphones, Combeferre came bursting out of the apartment door.
“Oh, hello, Grantaire,” Combeferre said. “I’m going out, for reasons unrelated to your presence. I am taking a toothbrush and a change of clothes with me, again for completely unrelated reasons. I might not be back home tonight, so please don't feel rushed to conclude your visit prematurely.”
Grantaire hid a smile. “Have a nice evening, Combeferre,”
“Thank you,” Combeferre said primly. He winked at Enjolras, shouldered his overnight bag, and scurried off down the hall.
“I adore Combeferre,” Grantaire said delightedly.
"You’re not alone in that sentiment,” Enjolras said. He pushed the apartment door open and ushered Grantaire inside.
He gave a cursory glance at the kitchen and living room; thank God it wasn't too messy. He didn't have time to think about what Grantaire might think of his decor since he was too busy stuffing a pair of Combeferre’s shoes in the front closet.
“Not gonna carry me over the threshold and throw me on the bed?” Grantaire asked, tongue between his teeth again, hiding a smile.
“Don't be ridiculous,” Enjolras said. “That’s way too athletic for me, and I'm a man of my word. I intend to move at a very sedate pace.”
“You are,” Grantaire said, and paused. He pushed the apartment door shut and shuffled into Enjolras's space. “So terrible.”
Grantaire kept shuffling, backing Enjolras all the way up against the door.
“I can make coffee halfway through if you get tired,” Enjolras offered.
“I’m gonna leave,” Grantaire said, reaching for the doorknob.
Enjolras grabbed Grantaire's wrist and pulled him flush against his torso and said, “You better not,”
“I wouldn't dream of it,” Grantaire said. He looked down at where his wrist was in Enjolras's hand and made a face. “Also,” he said. “That’s. I mean. This?” He held up his arm. Enjolras left his fingers clamped around his wrist. “I don't hate that,”
Enjolras squeezed his wrist a little tighter. Grantaire tilted his head and kissed the corner of Enjolras's mouth.
“I have numerous things to say about how many of my buttons have just been hit at once, but, first,” Grantaire said. “Rothko print in your kitchen? Baby. That's turning me off.”
“You fucker,” Enjolras said. He grabbed for Grantaire's other wrist and spun them, slamming Grantaire up against the door. “Don’t come into my house and disrespect my Rothko.”
“They’re blurry paint lines,” Grantaire said. “The accretion of time is all that makes them valuable,”
“If you say that a four year old could do it,” Enjolras said.
Grantaire bucked his hips against Enjolras’s. “What’re you gonna do,” Grantaire said.
“I’ll figure something out,” Enjolras said. Slowly, he pushed Grantaire's wrists up above his head.
“Fine, a four year old couldn't do it,” Grantaire said.
“Thank you for admitting it.”
“A chimpanzee could,” Grantaire said. “Wouldn’t even take a human.”
“Fuck you,” Enjolras said, leaning down to nip the sensitive spot behind Grantaire's ear as punishment for his horrible taste in art.
“Wish you would,” Grantaire said.
“I can't put my dick in someone who hates Rothko,” Enjolras said. “It’s unconscionable, Grantaire. Do you hear me? Inconceivable.”
“Is it really,” Grantaire said, batting his eyelashes.
“God, I can't believe I'm gonna sleep with you,” Enjolras said, fumbling for Grantaire's belt buckle. He held both of Grantaire's wrists in one hand and tugged Grantaire's zipper down with the other.
“You don't have to,”
“No, I mean, I'm gonna,” Enjolras said. “I’m totally gonna,”
Grantaire smirked like the cat who got the canary. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” Enjolras said. “Numerous times. In different positions. But, like,”
“Mmhm?”
“You’re an art major, Grantaire, how can you hate Rothko?”
“Don’t hate Rothko,” Grantaire said, panting a little when Enjolras got a hand into his boxer briefs. “I prefer Kandinsky, is all,”
“You would,” Enjolras said.
“Hey,” Grantaire said. “The fuck’s wrong with Kandinsky?”
“Nothing,” Enjolras said. “Nothing is technically wrong with Kandinsky, because art is subjective and nothing can be wrong, exactly,”
“You know, I was sort of planning on making a living out of art, Enjolras, so I know at least that much,” Grantaire said. “I’ll rephrase. What do you find to be displeasing to your particular eye about Kandinsky?”
“What isn't,” Enjolras said dramatically.
“Listen,” Grantaire said. “I know that you're just saying all of this to piss me off, and I am thoroughly pissed off, but I'm having trouble concentrating,”
“A pity,” Enjolras said. “And I'm not saying anything just to piss you off. I don't like Kandinsky,”
“I hope you get fired,” Grantaire said. “You’re bad at appreciating art.”
“Nonsense,” Enjolras said. “I appreciate you perfectly well.”
Grantaire worked his wrist free from Enjolras's grasp to throw his arm over his eyes. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Quoth the raven,” Enjolras quipped. “I need a condom.”
“Do you?”
“I mean, at first, I was going to take you to bed and very lovingly disrobe you and be very polite with behavior befitting gentlemen and scholars such as myself,”
“Naturally,” Grantaire said, stifling a smile.
“Except you had to go and blaspheme Rothko, Grantaire, so. Now I think I'm going to need a condom right now, because I'm going to suck you off right here, and you’re going to keep your eyes open the whole time and stare at the Rothko,” Enjolras said, putting his mouth very close to Grantaire's ear. “Because I told you to.”
“Front pocket of my jeans,” Grantaire said, looking very pleased.
“It’s almost like you were anticipating this,” Enjolras said. He let go of Grantaire's wrists to look for the condom, and Grantaire. Well. Grantaire kept his wrists up anyway, like he hadn't even noticed that Enjolras let go. That was interesting. That maybe hadn't been Enjolras's Thing before, but it was his Thing now. It was hard not to make a beautiful man following your every whim into A Thing.
“Only for an entire semester, yes,” Grantaire said. “No biggie.”
“Are you ever gonna let that go,” Enjolras asked.
“In a word, no,” Grantaire said.
He paused with his hand on the waistband of Grantaire's sinfully tight jeans. “This is okay, right?”
“So okay,” Grantaire said hastily.
Enjolras hummed low in his throat and moved his hand to the hem of Grantaire's shirt, instead. He pulled at it. Grantaire dropped his wrists from their place on the door and reached down, pulled his shirt off in one fell swoop, obediently put his wrists back up, and gave Enjolras a look like, well?
Enjolras didn't say beautiful out loud because that'd be predictable, and he didn't like to be predictable, but, well. Beautiful. If they were talking art, Enjolras would say Grantaire’s torso was Hellenistic. Not ripped, per se, but in shape. Realism. Attention to detail. He was wiry, lean and mean and built for dynamic movement. He was just as achingly lovely as Enjolras had thought he was four months ago the first time he saw him. Grantaire had three freckles in a line on his shoulder. Enjolras put his hands on Grantaire's waist and leaned in to kiss them. Grantaire shivered under his hands.
“You have freckles,” Enjolras said. “Right where my mouth is. That's. I mean, Grantaire, that's so cute. You're so cute,”
“I’m looking at the Rothko,” Grantaire replied. “It’s not that bad. It’s a trade off, ‘kay? Kiss me there again?”
Enjolras muffled a laugh and obliged him. He didn't lick, not really, but he let his teeth dig in a little. Grantaire whined. Enjolras nosed along his shoulder, up to his clavicle. Kissed carefully at the hollow of his throat. Drew his lips along Grantaire's jaw. His skin was so, so soft. Enjolras almost had trouble reconciling this wanton, whimpering version of Grantaire with the Grantaire who ripped Enjolras to shreds publicly in lecture.
“The Rothko’s making my eyes burn,” Grantaire interrupted. “Are you gonna suck my dick or not,”
“Foreplay, Grantaire,” Enjolras said patiently.
“Personally, I'm a huge fan of foreplay. However,” Grantaire said. Enjolras dragged his mouth down to Grantaire’s left pectoral and tongued carefully around his nipple. Grantaire squeaked a little.
“You were saying?”
“We’ve had, like, months of foreplay,” Grantaire fussed. “It’s excessive. Like, hello, 911, I've had a four month erection, the fuck you gonna do about it?”
Enjolras choked out a laugh and dug his fingers into Grantaire's waist. “Fine. I'll be faster.”
“I’m dying,” Grantaire said. “Baby, baby, I'm gonna waste away, I'm gonna--”
Enjolras tugged Grantaire's jeans down and put his hand on his dick. Grantaire went quiet.
“Still wasting away?” Enjolras asked politely.
“Mmhm, yep,” Grantaire said. Enjolras would almost believe he was completely unaffected if not for how he was rocking his hips into Enjolras's hand. “I’m gonna melt away down to bones and my eyeballs, singed from the Rothko, black around the edges. Nothing but a--”
“Can you please not talk ever again,” Enjolras sighed, his voice loaded with more affection than he cared to admit. He dropped to his knees with a thud.
Grantaire brought his wrists down from above his head to mime zipping his lips.
“I’m not naive enough to believe that you’re going to stay quiet,” Enjolras said. He tore the condom open and pulled it out of the wrapper. Wrapper went over his shoulder and crinkled when it hit the ground. Condom went onto Grantaire’s dick, rolled down carefully. Grantaire sucked in a breath. Enjolras did, too. He wet his lips with his tongue and rocked forward, fit his lips around Grantaire’s cock, bobbed his head a little to take him in halfway.
Almost like all the air had been sucked from his chest, Grantaire went quiet. Enjolras awkwardly tried to swallow a little of the excess saliva welling up in his throat. He put his hands on Grantaire’s hips and pushed him back against the door so he could slide his mouth further down Grantaire's dick.
Grantaire stayed quiet while Enjolras brought his hand around to put it where his mouth couldn't reach, stayed quiet while Enjolras flexed his tongue against the head of his cock, stayed quiet while Enjolras hummed and let his free hand wander. He didn't stay quiet--no, couldn't--when Enjolras relaxed and let Grantaire’s dick nudge up against the back of his throat just a little.
He said, “Enjolras,” just once, very quick, harsh like it'd been punched out of his chest.
Enjolras couldn't smirk with his mouth full of dick but he was willing to try.
Grantaire's Adam's apple bobbed in his throat. “Baby,” he said, softer.
Enjolras refused to whine around Grantaire because he had some self-control. Goddamn, though, it was hard with Grantaire making desperate noises already above him.
“You’re so,” Grantaire sighed. He still had his hands pinned above his head where Enjolras had left them, but his wrists twitched like he ached to reach out and touch. “You’re so good, baby, God, it's like you were born for this,”
Enjolras’s throat convulsed a little, dragging Grantaire's dick further into his mouth. It wasn't that he didn't expect Grantaire to be a talker; it was just that he was not emotionally prepared for the crushingly delicious pleasure that accompanied Grantaire making faint noises and cooing his name like that. Even the most ridiculous fucking porn dialogue was music to his ears when Grantaire said it, and fuck if that didn't say something a little troubling about who Enjolras was becoming as a person.
Grantaire mumbled something and his hips twitched a little, made as if to cant up into Enjolras’s mouth and then fell back against the door as if he'd reconsidered. Enjolras hastily redoubled his efforts and let his other hand wander down to Grantaire's ass.
“Enjolras,” Grantaire said immediately. “Babe, baby, lover, can I come, please,”
Enjolras thrilled at the please, relaxed his jaw, and did something with his fingers that had been declared illegal for a brief time in Michigan in 1968. Grantaire came very quickly down his throat and fairly collapsed against the door.
“Please, huh?” Enjolras asked delicately, picking himself off the floor.
“Some of us weren't raised by wolves to hang Rothkos in our kitchens and not ask permission to jizz in our teacher’s mouths,” Grantaire said weakly from where he'd slid down the door. He was now on his side on Enjolras’s welcome mat.
Just for that, Enjolras refused him a kiss and went into the kitchen for water. Grantaire followed him, neatly disposed of the condom in the trashcan below the sink, and returned to his spot on the ground. Enjolras came back to where Grantaire was laying on the floor and handed him a glass of Perrier. “I’m not your teacher anymore,” he reminded Grantaire. “So you can come in my mouth guilt-free.”
“Oh my God,” Grantaire said, blinking his eyes owlishly wide. “You’re a fucking menace, Enjolras.”
“Drink your water,” Enjolras said, fighting a smirk.
The way Grantaire looked at him was, Enjolras thought to himself, a pretty fucking massive ego boost. Grantaire regarded him with an expression that was delighted and adoring and was exactly what somebody lucky enough to be fucking him (would be fucking him very soon, at least) should be doing. Enjolras sat down next to him and ran a hand through Grantaire's hair, tugged a little at the roots.
“Hey,” Grantaire said.
“Mmm?” Enjolras asked, taking a sip of his water.
“Don’t do that,” Grantaire said. Before Enjolras could draw his hand back completely, Grantaire said, “I mean, you can’t do that, like, five seconds after I've orgasmed, because it's gonna make me hard again before I've finished my water,”
Enjolras sighed. “Fuck the water, Grantaire, can we have sex now?”
“Bedroom,” Grantaire said, a smile forming even as he fought it. He rocked up on his knees and slid his glass of water back onto the kitchen counter.
“Here,” Enjolras said, turning for his door. He opened it and Grantaire dragged him inside, threw him unceremoniously against the bed, climbed on top of him in an instant and buried his face in Enjolras's neck. Enjolras was too distracted by Grantaire nipping along his jaw to be concerned about being judged for his very cliché print of Klimt’s The Kiss hanging above his bed.
“You,” Grantaire said.
“Me,” Enjolras agreed, delighted to find that he held enough power over Grantaire that he could spark Grantaire's libido with merely a few words.
“You’re too pretty for your own good,” Grantaire said, bitterly, worshipfully.
“Mmph,” Enjolras said, distracted by Grantaire's hands working their way into his pants. “Grantaire, you're gonna have to get off for a second,”
“Why,” Grantaire said, no, whined, and wasn't that ridiculously attractive, the fact that Grantaire wanted him so very much that even a second away from him was a hardship. Enjolras's ego was going to be dangerously huge by the end of the afternoon.
“‘Cause I was thinking you could suck me off, and we can't do that unless one of us gets a condom.”
“Christ,” Grantaire said. He dug his teeth into Enjolras's shoulder and sucked a little. Enjolras gasped and forgot about the condom momentarily.
“Drawer,” Enjolras choked out.
“Just a minute, baby,” Grantaire said. He clambered off of the bed and rummaged around in Enjolras's IKEA nightstand drawer. He snatched a condom and returned quickly to the mattress to kiss Enjolras very sweetly. He fussed with Enjolras's pants and made short work of dragging them down his legs, made shorter work of undoing his shirt buttons and kissing the hollow of his throat. Enjolras had a birthmark on his neck and Grantaire went after it like a target, kissing and biting carefully. “Jesus,” Grantaire said with feeling. “Baby, baby, you're so pretty,”
“Fuck off,” Enjolras said, voice too mellow to be a snarl. He was older than Grantaire. Not by a huge amount, but. Still. Older. Too old to be called pretty. Too old for it within the realm of his own head at least.
Grantaire kissed the corner of Enjolras’s jaw and huffed. “I will not,”
Enjolras squirmed and Grantaire hummed. He pushed the waistband of Enjolras's briefs down. Fine, Enjolras thought. He'd let Grantaire call him pretty. He'd let Grantaire do whatever he wanted if Grantaire would just put a hand down his pants al-fucking-ready.
“Okay?” Grantaire asked politely.
“Yes,” Enjolras replied emphatically.
“Just checking,” Grantaire said, sweet, a little abashed. “Manners maketh man, and all,” he continued. Enjolras hid a smile, rocked up on his elbows to kiss him, rolled his hips a little. He clutched at Grantaire's side with sweat damp fingers. Grantaire moved his head to the side enough that Enjolras's lips glanced off his cheek. He went back for the freckles on Enjolras's neck. He said, a murmur against warm skin, “What d’you want?”
“I want,” Enjolras said, and squawked. Grantaire’s mouth--no, his tongue--was doing something on Enjolras's neck. Enjolras had squawked at it. Not a squeak. Squeak implied delicacy, implied self consciousness or attention to volume. Enjolras squawked, and then melted like snow coming down in the too late spring. Enjolras was fucking old enough to know what he liked and to not be shy about it but Grantaire had found a point on his body with unerring ease that Enjolras had forgotten he liked having touched.
“What?” Grantaire asked. His mouth dragged against the skin where Enjolras's neck met his shoulder.
“You,” Enjolras said. “I mean, I want you, but more--you found that--the spot,”
Grantaire grinned. Enjolras twitched. Grantaire opened his mouth again deliberately and breathed hot and even against The Spot.
“The Spot?” Grantaire asked.
“Don’t be obtuse,” Enjolras said fussily.
“I didn't know you had a spot,” Grantaire said, a grin evident in his voice.
“Everyone has one,” Enjolras said.
“I know what erogenous zones are, you fucking tool,” Grantaire said fondly. He scraped his teeth against Enjolras's neck. Enjolras made a noise. “That’s different than a spot. You don't have zones, you have an Achilles heel.”
“I have a sensitive ne-heck,” Enjolras got out in the midst of Grantaire working his hand in between them to thumb Enjolras's dick. God, was he weak as all get out for anything Grantaire felt like doing to him. Anything. Jesus. “It’s a character flaw,”
“What else is sensitive?”
“You’re such a fucking cliche it's goddamn unbearable,” Enjolras said. “Don’t be flippant while you're giving me a handy.”
“Nothing to be flippant about here,” Grantaire said mildly. He twisted his wrist a little; Enjolras croaked. “Don’t snap at me,”
“I’m not snapping,” Enjolras said. He really wasn't snapping. Grantaire knew it, too, he bet. Grantaire was such a shit, the type of shit who'd never mistake Enjolras's good natured, very lazy bickering for actually snapping and who'd use it against him. Enjolras was loath to say he'd met his match. Hadn't met him, really. Been bested by him, more like it.
“Quit thinking,” Grantaire said. “If you get all up in your head about it, you're not gonna come before my wrist tires out.”
“You’ve got other weapons in your arsenal besides your wrist,” Enjolras replied evenly, before he thought about what was actually leaving his mouth.
Grantaire didn't call him pushy or judge him for insinuating. Grantaire smiled big and broad and said, “Yeah,”, and kissed Enjolras's neck, and scooted down.
“Do you have other spots?” Grantaire asked.
“Everyone has--”
“You know exactly what I meant,” Grantaire said, somehow managing to sound prim even while sort of crawling down Enjolras's body.
“That’s such a weird question to--Jesus God,”
“That’s another one,” Grantaire said pleasantly, and moved his tongue away from Enjolras's nipple. “I’ll keep looking.”
“Shh,” Enjolras said, sanctimonious.
Grantaire bit his stomach, right where it flowed into his hip. Enjolras gasped. Grantaire put his chin on Enjolras's hipbone and looked at him, brown eyes twinkling.
“Shh,” he parroted. “That’s three.”
Enjolras shushed.
Grantaire found spots. He found many. He bit Enjolras's inner thigh, high up, where the skin was thin. Enjolras had been kissed there before. He hadn’t been bitten, not right there. He liked the biting. (He didn't like the biting when Grantaire moved higher up his body, back to his chest. He said so. Grantaire was a good listener. Enjolras knew that from lecture, obviously.) Grantaire sucked a mark right on the base of his throat. Thin skin there, too. Enjolras dug his hands white knuckled into his sheets. Grantaire squeezed with his hands on Enjolras's hips to get him to stay still. His fingertips might've shown up as a bruise if Enjolras's skin had been lighter. Cliché. Enjolras hated cliché but he liked Grantaire's hands digging into his hips, solid, reassuring.
Grantaire made his way back to his stomach, laid himself down again between Enjolras’s legs. He kissed carefully in a line, navel to hipbone to thigh, and looked up.
“Yes, please,” Enjolras said politely. Explicit. Very clear on what he wanted. Grantaire looked satisfied.
Tearing of foil, as usual, and then the slight squeak of rubber being pinched between fingertips. A symphony in two sounds, heard for the second time that evening. Enjolras's eyes fluttered shut even before Grantaire's hands touched him. The dark behind his eyelids was punctuated by the warm drag of Grantaire's tongue on his dick, steady, smooth as Grantaire rocked down, always ready to prove himself.
“Slow down,” Enjolras said. Grantaire looked up at him like, really? Enjolras looked back, his gaze firm. Grantaire didn't seem to like being bossed around--which Enjolras got, he didn’t like it either--but he liked being wanted, liked having something someone else needed and holding it out of their reach till he was forced to hand it over, like a dog with a bone. Enjolras got it. Stubborn made sense to him. Enjolras said, “Please, Grantaire,”, imbuing his voice with confidence that implied he was entitled, somewhat, to Grantaire's time, implied he was in full control of the situation even if he felt, more with every passing second, that he was drifting out of control.
Grantaire slowed down, his eyes sliding shut. He eased down slow, couldn't quite make his mouth fit over all of Enjolras--which was fine. Enjolras has no expectations. Anything that Grantaire wanted to do to him was frankly good enough. Grantaire fumbled in the sheets near him with one hand, his mouth still warm around Enjolras's dick, and came back with his palm slick with lube. Carefully, he fit that palm around what he couldn't reach, did a complicated dance of bobbing his head up and down and twisting his wrist on the upstroke, which was. Jesus Christ. Satisfying, to say the least.
Enjolras hadn't been in a dry spell, per se. It was more of a selective hiatus, thanks very much. Selective in that he hadn’t fucked anyone since the semester started, not because of Grantaire specifically, but because when you have a mountain of tests and papers to grade constantly, sex starts to fall by the wayside. Anyway, all that to say, Enjolras really had been in a dry spell, basically, despite hating to admit it to anyone, and that was making his stamina dangerously low.
“Oh my God,” Enjolras managed to get out.
Grantaire pulled back, a grin blooming on his bruised pink mouth, and rocked forward a little. Enjolras met him halfway in a kiss, Grantaire's hand trapped between their stomachs. Enjolras's hips bucked up almost against his will, seeking friction, seeking anything, which Grantaire gave gladly.
“You’re beautiful,” Grantaire said, his voice scraped raw, sincerity bleeding out of an open wound. “Jesus Christ--”
“It’s Enjolras,” Enjolras corrected.
“Did you just say I shouldn't be flippant, you nasty shit,” Grantaire said, dragging his lips down to Enjolras's jaw.
“Thought you said I was beautiful,” Enjolras said, garbled through a gasp.
“You are,” Grantaire replied evenly. He gripped Enjolras’s cock a little tighter, the muscles in his arms flexing against Enjolras's stomach. “Very much so. And you're a shit, too,”
“That’s being flippant,” Enjolras said primly.
“So it’s only cute when you do it,” Grantaire said.
“No, it's cute when you do it. You're cute. Still being flippant, though,”
“I hold your orgasm at my mercy, babe,” Grantaire said, rolling his eyes. “Careful,”
Enjolras yelped when Grantaire's teeth dug into his shoulder. “You’re the worst,”
“Yes,” Grantaire agreed. He bestowed a kiss on Enjolras's shoulder and slid away, back down to sit between his legs. He dipped his head and wrapped his lips around Enjolras's dick and Enjolras, being only human and having restrained himself through nearly five torturous minutes of a very slow tempo, exhaled sharply and fell apart beneath Grantaire's attention.
Grantaire only pulled his head away when Enjolras was twitching from overstimulation. He did so with a very wet, low pop that was, judging by his smirk, absolutely on purpose.
“Good?” he asked pleasantly, wiping the corner of his mouth clean with his thumb.
Enjolras mumbled weakly and closed his eyes.
“Next time just ask,” Grantaire said. Enjolras cracked his lids and watched Grantaire shamelessly wipe his lube covered hand on the Egyptian cotton sheets.
“I’m asking now,” Enjolras said.
“For what?” Grantaire asked, sly, smirking.
“Kiss me,” Enjolras said. “And other stuff, later. Not now. I'm tired. Kiss me?”
Let it be known that Grantaire was nothing if not obliging.