Work Text:
“You can just tell me that you wanna do some sexy master-maid roleplay,” Grantaire tells his boyfriend as he rolls his eyes. “Like, I know you’re all for equality and shit, but you like bossing me around in bed too much to convince me you wouldn’t want to go a step further.”
Enjolras stares at him blankly. Grantaire has to admit that this might’ve been a bit too sudden, simply approaching him with yet another idea to spice up their bedroom- er, apartment life. But still. It’s not like he hasn’t seen Enjolras attempt to discreetly look up pictures of twinks in maid dresses on an incognito tab. In fact, he’s not even mad about this newfound interest. It just so happens to be that Grantaire is slender and beautiful, and one of his many talents includes rocking a dress and heels. He can even run in them.
Ergo, this should be easy.
“Where would you even buy the necessary clothes?” Enjolras sputters at last.
Grantaire presses a finger to his lips before replacing it with his own to kiss him briefly. “Don’t you worry your pretty head about that. Tomorrow night, just wear your sexiest suit, and I’ll take care of the rest, just as a maid would.”
Enjolras’s eyes darken as he asks, “And which suit would that be?”
“The black one, of course.” It’s a stupid answer to a trick question. All of Enjolras’s suits are black, and he looks sexy in all of them. How’s that for equality? Another idea pops into Grantaire’s head as his mouth starts to water. “Wear your gloves too. I really like them.”
“Wait, R, sweetheart-”
But Grantaire has already flounced off and retreated to his studio, not to paint, but to browse his favorite online store for kinky clothing and accessories. Oh, this should be so much fun.
Crossing and uncrossing his legs impatiently, Grantaire waits for his boyfriend to get home. It’s a Friday night, so there’s no reason for Enjolras to stay late at the office, especially not when he knows that Grantaire is anticipating him. He takes a moment to fix the straps of the little surprise for Enjolras hiding under his dress. It required too much effort to hide because the dress itself is a cutesy abomination of frills and ruffles with a scalloped neckline and a layered skirt that just barely brushes his upper thighs. At least it cinches in and flares out, drawing attention to his tiny waist.
When Grantaire hears the doorknob being fiddled with, he immediately jumps up out of the chair and adjusts the skirt of his dress before walking to the door, ready to greet Enjolras like a good maid. The stiletto heels of his pumps click against the laminate floor in time with his rapidly beating heart. There was the obvious option of wearing frilly white stockings and shoes that are much more demure, but he waxed his legs earlier in preparation. Besides, this is meant to be sexy, not practical.
Grantaire opens the door a bit too eagerly, extremely pleased by how Enjolras looks—black really is the sexiest color on him, and, oh God, those gloves do everything for him. Although his facial expression remains calm and still, there is a flicker of appreciation and quiet awe as he slowly rakes his gaze over Grantaire’s form. It lingers on the collar around his neck.
They can both take a moment to drool.
Let it be known that Enjolras is amazing at roleplaying a cold aristocrat, no matter how much he is against the principle of social classes. He shrugs his outer coat off—good God, he really chose a good outfit—and hands it over to Grantaire without so much as a greeting. Grantaire has to applaud him for that. It’s such a drastic change from his usual enthusiastic kisses and happy hugs that it sends Grantaire reeling for a moment before he manages to school his features into one of shy deference and hangs the coat up.
“Welcome home, sir,” he whispers, eyes on the floor. There’s a very pregnant pause before Enjolras turns around, dress shoes barely making a sound against the clean floor, and walks just a few steps closer.
It’s close enough that Grantaire doesn’t glance up for fear of accidentally bumping heads with Enjolras. His breath catches in his throat as a gloved finger nudges his chin up, forcing him to stare straight into Enjolras’s blue eyes. Usually, his gaze is warm and comforting, but at the moment, it’s hardened and piercing and flinty. Enjolras’s other hand quickly finds its rightful place at Grantaire’s waist.
“S-sir?” Grantaire stammers. He doesn’t even have to try to get into the right headspace for this role, not when Enjolras is touching him and looking at him like that.
“Hm.” Enjolras leans in so close, he can probably hear Grantaire’s pounding heart and feel his rabbiting pulse, but all he does is stroke Grantaire’s cheek with a deceptively gentle thumb. It’s more than enough to rob him of his ability to breathe.
Grantaire finds himself gradually being backed into the wall as Enjolras presses closer. Oh, this is so much better than anything he could’ve imagined. They’re so close that he can feel Enjolras’s breath hot on his lips. He doesn’t dare move, eyes wide, and he wonders if Enjolras might kiss him.
Unfortunately, Enjolras doesn’t kiss him. Grantaire is left there, feeling slightly colder and more than a little lost.
“Don’t just stand there, little lamb,” Enjolras murmurs, startling him. Oh, that pet name… does that make Enjolras a wolf then?
Grantaire obediently shuffles over to where Enjolras stands, keeping his eyes lowered demurely. He doesn’t say anything, waiting for an order. Or a question. Either works.
“Did you prepare dinner?”
Shit. Grantaire was so excited for this scene that he totally forgot to cook. This is such a stupid mistake for him to make, so he berates himself, curling his fingers in his skirt in frustration. He makes the two of them dinner every day, yet he simply forgets today of all days. Hopefully, Enjolras won’t be too harsh on him for that, and his panic must show because a hand wraps around his wrist, grabbing his attention.
Hesitantly, Grantaire meets Enjolras’s eyes and catches the silent question in them, asking if he’s okay. He exhales shakily and nods, so Enjolras morphs his expression back into one of quiet disdain and lets go of his hand.
“I’ll take that as a resounding no then,” Enjolras says, sitting down at the table. Grantaire watches as he picks up one of the conveniently placed books on top of it and flips to a random page. After a moment, Enjolras raises an eyebrow and looks at him again. “Well? Why aren’t you already taking advantage of my leniency?”
Grantaire immediately blushes and mumbles, “That’s very thoughtful of you, sir.”
To remedy his failure, he grabs the bottle of pomegranate juice from the fridge and pours some into a wine glass. Enjolras looks faintly amused as he swirls the juice around and sips it. Grantaire sighs in relief and hurries to complete the task at hand.
There’s something soothing about cooking. Grantaire doesn’t even need to think about what ingredient he’s using or how much of it goes into the pan. When he bends over to grab another plate, he feels Enjolras’s hot gaze burning him. Instead of turning around to confirm that, Grantaire makes sure that everything is perfectly garnished and beautifully presented. After all, someone like Enjolras deserves to have all his senses satisfied with every meal.
When Grantaire approaches the table and sets the food down, Enjolras hums in appreciation, effectively sending a thrill up Grantaire’s spine. He loves pleasing Enjolras in all senses of that word, and now is no exception.
However, before he can move to stand to the side, he finds a hand on his wrist again, tugging him backwards. Startled, Grantaire squeaks as he loses his balance and quickly braces himself on Enjolras’s shoulders as he lands in his lap. His face heats as he tries to scramble out of it, but there’s a firm arm around his waist, practically locking him in place.
“O-oh.”
“Mm.” Enjolras gestures toward the food. “Feed me, won’t you, little lamb?”
Grantaire has no option but to obey, glad to be in possession of enough foresight to have made finger foods instead of something that could potentially be messy. Right now, perched in Enjolras’s lap, he tries to catch all the crumbs with a hand under the one holding the food as he lifts it to Enjolras’s mouth. He ignores the sensation of his bare ass rubbing against the fabric of Enjolras’s slacks at the moment in favor of concentrating on not making a huge mess.
“Delicious,” Enjolras says, and his lips brush Grantaire’s fingertips as they form the word. Grantaire is helpless to do anything but turn red at the praise.
“Thank you, sir,” Grantaire responds softly. He takes this as his cue to continue feeding Enjolras small morsels.
“That’s enough.”
Pausing, Grantaire moves to put the tart down, but, to his surprise, Enjolras pulls his glove off with his teeth and plucks it from his fingers. And then he pushes it against Grantaire’s lips.
“Open,” Enjolras coaxes. Not given any time to think about what’s happening, Grantaire parts his lips immediately to accept the bite. He glances at Enjolras’s small, satisfied smile from underneath his lashes. Enjolras wipes a crumb away from the corner of Grantaire’s mouth with a swift brush of his thumb. “Is it good?”
Grantaire nods and shifts in Enjolras’s lap. “I should be servicing you, sir.”
“Are you questioning my judgement?” Enjolras asks, raising that same eyebrow.
“No, sir.”
“Good.” Enjolras picks up the small plate with the chocolate cake before Grantaire can even protest. He alternates between taking bites of dessert and insistently pushing forkfuls of it against Grantaire’s lips. Grantaire has no choice but to accept them, or he’d end up with frosting smeared all over his mouth, which is the last thing he wants since Enjolras won’t kiss it off.
This feels vaguely wrong, but Grantaire can’t do anything to stop Enjolras or the butterflies fluttering around in his belly. He won’t deny that he likes sitting in Enjolras’s lap and being fed and taken care of. Enjolras is gazing at him with a much more tender look in his eyes, and Grantaire is lost in it.
“I’m full, sir.” That said, Grantaire pries the fork from Enjolras’s hand and finishes the task of feeding the cake to him. “Is it, uh, was it good, sir?”
“Very,” Enjolras replies with a faint smile. “Thank you, little lamb.”
“You’re welcome, sir.”
This time, when Grantaire tries climbing out of Enjolras’s lap, he’s met with no resistance. Unfortunately for him, merely being in close proximity to Enjolras still makes his knees go weak, so he wobbles a bit. The heels are no help for that.
“Careful.” Enjolras reaches out and steadies him with an arm around his waist. Again. There is no way he hasn’t noticed the surprise Grantaire prepared for him yet. Honestly, Grantaire should just be clumsy twenty-four-seven if this is what he gets. Why would he need to swan gracefully into rooms when there’s Enjolras there to catch him?
Grantaire squeaks as Enjolras picks him up in something of a bridal carry and brings him to the study. Enjolras sits down in the office chair, settling Grantaire back into his lap, and opens his laptop.
“I need to finish some work, and then you can draw me a bath.”
“Y-yes, sir.” Grantaire feels like he should be on his knees under the desk with his mouth stuffed full of Enjolras’s cock, but this works too. Especially since he can feel something poking his butt.
When he looks at Enjolras, however, there’s nothing but laser focus. That self-control and willpower is a force to be reckoned with, and Grantaire is but a mouse caught between a rock and a hard place—the rock being the desk and the hard place being… well.
Enjolras is warm, ridiculously so, and his general presence, although initially cold, is so comforting. Grantaire can feel himself dozing off a bit as he loses himself in his thoughts and listens to the sound of Enjolras’s fingers flying across the keys.
The next thing Grantaire knows, there’s a hand stroking between his shoulder blades, thumb rubbing tiny circles against his back. When he stirs, the hand stills in its movements, causing him to whimper.
“You’re awake.”
“Mmh, yes, master,” Grantaire replies, still a bit muddled. “Would you like to take a bath now?”
Instead of answering, Enjolras stands up, setting Grantaire back on his feet. Right. The shoes. Grantaire catches the split-second that Enjolras glances down at his legs as the dress swishes about his thighs. He preens momentarily before spinning around and flouncing off to the bathroom with the knowledge that Enjolras’s eyes are probably fixed on his ass.
“Let me undress you, sir,” Grantaire murmurs, once he has filled the bathtub and poured in the appropriate amount of rose petals and bath salts. Those are actually his own because he loves taking luxurious baths, but Enjolras deserves to be pampered too.
Enjolras steps in closer than he really has to, and Grantaire feels the breath on the back of his neck very keenly as he bends his head to undo each of the buttons on Enjolras’s shirt. He folds each layer after sliding it off of Enjolras’s shoulders and barely gets enough time to catch a glimpse of all that skin on display before Enjolras sinks into the water with a groan.
“Scrub my back, little lamb,” Enjolras demands, and Grantaire hurries to grab the loofah and soap. He kneels, sitting back on his haunches.
As he works, he admires the expanse of Enjolras’s back, specifically how broad his shoulders are. They’re truly beautiful under a well-fitted suit, but Grantaire can properly appreciate them like this. Enjolras isn’t muscled to an obscene degree, but he is built like a statue. As Grantaire lathers more soap, his mind wanders off and imagines himself clinging desperately to Enjolras’s shoulders as he’s fucked into repeatedly. He blushes at the scrapes on Enjolras’s back that still have yet to completely fade away.
“Come here,” Enjolras says, and Grantaire can only hope he means for him to walk around the tub to face him. He does so, hands clasped in front of him, and looks at Enjolras expectantly.
It seems as though Enjolras has a thing for pulling him into his lap—or in this case, into the bathtub—because Grantaire topples in with a yelp. Enjolras looks extremely smug as he takes in the soaked maid dress practically plastered to Grantaire’s body and his blue eyes wide with shock.
Grantaire’s second reaction is to become embarrassed at the situation. He’s straddling Enjolras’s lap—his naked lap—and the white parts of his dress are definitely entirely transparent. There’s no way Enjolras can’t see what he’s wearing underneath. Quickly, he removes his shoes and sets them outside the bathtub to prevent further damage to them.
“S-sorry, sir!” Grantaire squeaks, but pushing himself away is futile, as he should know. He sits there as Enjolras’s stare turns unfocused momentarily before it hardens again. It’s obvious that his gaze isn’t the only thing that’s hard.
“Your dress is all wet, little lamb,” Enjolras observes, rubbing the fabric between two fingers.
“It is, sir.”
“Well, we can’t have you catching a cold. Take it off.”
Grantaire opens and closes his mouth once. “The water is warm, sir. I won’t catch a cold.”
Enjolras’s eyes turn flinty again as he asks, “Are you trying to contradict my orders again?”
“N-no, sir!” Grantaire exclaims. He mentally slaps himself for his own stupidity. Even if he did stay in the warm water, it would be with a very naked Enjolras, which is definitely not better than being dry and divested of his dress. After he struggles with the laces in vain for a few moments, he hesitantly whispers, “I might need help, sir.”
Enjolras looks extremely pleased with that. However, instead of helping Grantaire out of the dress, he slides a hand beneath Grantaire’s knees and braces the other against his back before standing up completely. Grantaire inhales sharply and wraps his arms around Enjolras’s neck as he watches the water sluice off his body. He very keenly follows a drop of water trail down Enjolras’s stomach with his eyes.
Grantaire’s master really is a fine specimen.
“S-sir?”
Enjolras doesn’t pay him any mind, and he barely sets him down for a minute as he snags a towel and wraps it around him before drying himself with his own towel and putting yet another black suit on. Grantaire stares up at him with wide eyes, just barely managing to snuggle into the fluffy towel and slip his heels back on before he’s being picked up again. Enjolras carries him all the way back to the bedroom, leaving a little trail of water behind.
Remaining quiet, Grantaire just tucks his hands to his chest and curls into Enjolras’s warmth. He can’t help but wonder what Enjolras might do to him next, unpredictable as he has been. The last thing he expects is for Enjolras to put him down on the soft comforter, hands gentle as he unlaces the dress. He peels it away and pushes it off Grantaire’s body before casting it aside. Enjolras’s hands freeze as a punched out noise escapes him.
Grantaire feels extremely small as blue eyes rake over his form, and he shifts to cover himself with his hands and blushes. It’s futile, of course, because Enjolras has already seen the harness, stark against his pale skin. Black straps criss-cross over his hips, connecting under his chest and the curve of his ass.
Enjolras doesn’t say a word as he fits his hands to Grantaire’s waist, stroking the lines of his hip bones and caressing the exposed skin. Like everything he does, he’s focused as he traces each strap. Grantaire holds his breath and attempts to draw his knees closer to his chest, overwhelmed by the attention and the heat of Enjolras’s palms.
“What’s this my sweet maid put on under his dress?” Enjolras murmurs, easily falling back into character. He tugs on one of the straps and lets it snap back against Grantaire’s skin, leaving a red mark behind. “Was he hoping to entice me?”
“N-no, sir.”
“Then who was it for?” Is it Grantaire’s imagination, or is there a hint of jealousy in Enjolras’s voice? Who could he possibly be jealous of? Himself?
“My master,” Grantaire replies quietly. It wouldn’t do for him to lie anymore, and he can’t bring himself to regret it when Enjolras’s expression turns mildly delighted.
Grantaire lowers his lashes, deeming himself unworthy of staring at his master’s perfect form, and waits with bated breath in anticipation of what Enjolras might do to him. Would Enjolras punish him for this?
Punishment comes in the form of Enjolras surging forward and kissing him for the first time this evening. Grantaire gasps and parts his lips at the unyielding press of Enjolras’s mouth against his own, and squeezes his eyes shut. It’s too overwhelming, and Grantaire unconsciously makes room for Enjolras between his legs, allowing himself to be pushed up against the pillows.
Enjolras’s mouth is hot against his, and it burns as he kisses across Grantaire's throat, occasionally pausing to suck a bruise into the side of his neck. Grantaire moans and quickly covers his mouth to muffle any sounds when Enjolras bites down on his collarbone. He keeps his eyes closed, choosing to give himself to the sensations of Enjolras ravishing him. A lick over his nipple has him keening.
“Turn over, little lamb,” Enjolras coos, mouth right next to Grantaire’s ear. “Let me have you.”
This time, Grantaire is eager to obey, partly because being on his front means he can bite the pillow to prevent any wanton moans from slipping out. He lets Enjolras’s hands guide him onto his belly because he really is generous and so good to him, but he raises his hips by his own volition, presenting himself for his master.
“So eager for me.” Enjolras’s hands are a familiar comfort as they caress Grantaire’s butt. He massages it and makes an appreciative noise as he moves his hands down to Grantaire’s legs, where he presses a kiss to his inner thighs, and wraps his fingers around his ankles to spread them.
The heels are more of a hindrance than anything at this point, but it’s obvious that Enjolras likes Grantaire in them enough to keep them on him. Naked save for a harness and stiletto pumps, Grantaire can only wait. Enjolras is certainly taking his sweet time marking Grantaire’s thighs up, but he cannot be rushed.
When Grantaire expects fingers prodding at his entrance, he receives something much wetter. He moans into his pillow as Enjolras- oh God, he’s really putting his mouth there. And it feels good. Enjolras licks a stripe up Grantaire’s hole, causing him to scream.
“Oh, you’re precious.”
Before Grantaire can let out a confused noise at the sudden withdrawal of pleasure, he’s being maneuvered again, except this time, he’s straddling Enjolras’s face with no way to see what Enjolras might do. When did he get there? Another kiss is pressed to the inside of his thighs, but he’s aching for Enjolras’s dick, fingers, tongue, anything.
“Relax, little lamb. If it doesn’t feel good, I’ll stop.” With that, Enjolras holds Grantaire’s legs apart and dives in, immediately reducing him to a sobbing mess.
Grantaire pushes his ass back into Enjolras’s face and tries riding his tongue to get more of the sensation, but Enjolras has a firm grasp on his hips. That sinful tongue alternates between small flicks and thrusts and occasionally swirls around, causing him to moan helplessly.
“M-master,” Grantaire whines, just barely remembering to refer to Enjolras as such. “More, please. ”
Enjolras pulls away, leaving Grantaire empty and sopping wet with saliva. His entrance flutters shamefully at Enjolras, desperate to be filled.
“Please, what?” Enjolras asks, his breath hot against Grantaire’s hole.
“Please, sir, ” Grantaire whimpers. He spreads his legs a little wider, hoping that Enjolras would consider putting his mouth on him again. “Please- ahh, please put your tongue back in me, sir- mmh! ”
His plea dissolves into a moan as Enjolras does exactly that. Grantaire jerks when Enjolras spits into his hole and begins eating him out with a new vigor. He doesn’t dare touch himself, though his cock is flushed and erect, jutting out from in between the black straps of the harness and steadily leaking precum onto Enjolras’s suit. His orgasm belongs to Enjolras and Enjolras alone, and he will come untouched if that is what’s wished of him.
Grantaire can feel Enjolras close his lips around his hole and suck, and the resulting pleasure is too much. With a soft moan, he comes, sitting heavily on Enjolras’s face as he rides out his orgasm. He falls forward bonelessly, but Enjolras catches him before he can flop onto the bed.
“You did so well for me, little lamb,” Enjolras whispers, smoothing a hand down Grantaire’s side. He eyes the harness and shoes again. “You look so sexy, did you know? You’re absolutely perfect serving me and perfect in my bed.”
“Ngh,” Grantaire groans. “Want- want you in me, sir.”
“Beg for it.”
“Please, sir. Want you.”
Enjolras smiles against Grantaire’s belly as he unclasps the harness and slips his shoes off. His own clothes are shed piece by piece until they’re both naked and pressed against each other bodily. “You really are perfect.”
At the praise, Grantaire’s toes curl, and he wraps his legs around Enjolras’s waist, pulling him closer. There’s the telltale sound of a bottle being opened before a finger presses into him, joined quickly by a second and then a third until Grantaire is a moaning and oversensitive mess. His dick twitches as it gains interest again, and Enjolras starts moving his fingers, occasionally rubbing at his prostate.
Grantaire feels weak to do much other than take what’s given to him, as he’s just a lowly maid for Enjolras to do whatever he pleases. Such as splitting him open on that thick cock. Enjolras thrusts shallowly before suddenly pushing in completely, making Grantaire’s back arch off the bed completely as he’s bent in half.
“O-oh!” he cries, clinging to Enjolras. He’s being taken apart and put back together, utterly wrecked by Enjolras’s cock and just Enjolras’s… everything.
Grantaire sees stars as his second orgasm washes over him, spilling onto his belly as Enjolras spills inside him. He breathes heavily, and his cheeks will forever be stained red. All he can do is lie there, letting Enjolras’s cum leak out of him, too worn out to even try and keep it all inside. A gentle hand brushes his hair back as kisses are rained down onto his face.
“You’re going to be so sore tomorrow, sweetheart,” Enjolras tells him softly, reverting back to his usual term of endearment.
Exhausted, Grantaire mumbles, “Then you’ll just have to carry me around, sir.”
Enjolras laughs as he snags a few wipes and cleans Grantaire, the rhythm enough to lull him to sleep. “It would be my pleasure.”
Grantaire barely registers a warm body slipping under the covers behind him, pulling him back into a comforting embrace and stroking his belly absently. Enjolras’s presence is always so nice, especially as Grantaire slowly comes back to himself.
He turns around and blinks at Enjolras slowly before snuggling closer. Blushing, Grantaire says, voice muffled by the pillow, “Thanks for indulging me.”
“Of course, my love. It was fun for me too.”
A simmering warmth courses through Grantaire, leaving him tingly and content. He has so much love for this man, who does everything in his power to make him happy.
“I love you,” Grantaire tells him, his heart so full, it might crack a few ribs.
Enjolras kisses him and squeezes his butt fondly. “I love you too, my little lamb.”